Second Chances
by anneeny
Summary: Tom Riddle has never been one for mediocrity, so when given the chance, he seeks out the one person able to tell him the future; a blind hag living in the Black Forest of Germany. However, he does not like what he is told one bit. How is he supposed to change it and who the bloody hell does this Hermione Granger think she is? Tied for Best Characterization of Hermione in the Tomion
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Second Chances

Back and forth she rocked in her wooden rocking chair, enjoying the creaking it forced from the floor boards beneath her. Her old bones weren't what they used to be and although in her more youthful days she would have taken advantage of the cool breeze and bright sun to tend her garden, the old hag was now content to sit lazily and simply exist. She had other things on her mind today. She was expecting company and wouldn't dream of greeting the gentleman with dirt staining her hands.

"Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I should forget that others can see," she chuckled merrily. How long had it been since some desperate soul braved the Black Forest seeking her guidance and insight. That alone showed their worth, but the man she was expecting had traveled from farther than most. Her sisters did not condone her interest in the world of man, but she liked being able to point an influential few in the right direction. The one she intended on meeting with would be influential indeed. The winds had whispered of his coming for three days. The night owls hooted their warnings that she should flee and even her faithful cat had ran away that very morning. The Hag did not fear her fate. She knew she would die on this day.

"But at least it'll be by the hand of a handsome young man!" she cackled again, which quickly turned into a dry, hacking cough.

The shutters of her window shook from a breeze that signaled the arrival of her demise. She reached out her right hand for her walking staff and slowly used it to push herself into a hunched standing position. She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders and faced her front door, smiling sweetly.

She heard the dry door hinges squeak followed by steps. The pair of feet stopped before her. She could smell his sweat, his soiled clothes and his hate.

"You have traveled far," she said slowly, unsure of her German accent on English ears.

"I have," a velveteen voice stated matter-of-factly.

"And to have come during such a time as this! The war brings dangers to all of those who enter Germany."

"The war is over," he said. "Grindelwald's defeat was but a few weeks ago."  
She grunted. "My, is it that time already? As well as I can see all that is to come, you would think I could be better at knowing the now!" she barked a laugh. "But please, where are my manners? Have a seat. You have a question for me, do you not?"

He did not sit. He stood perfectly still. Had her keen ears not picked up the sound of his even breaths, she might have thought he vanished.  
"My future, witch. I would have you tell me everything you see of it."

"Goodness, straight to the point then." Her lips stretched into a toothless grin. She lifted her walking staff slightly off the ground then slammed it down with a loud crack. Suddenly, she could see. The walls and furniture of her home became visible and shown with dull blue hue while the view outside her windows glowed with a rainbow radiance that only life could create. Drawing her gaze to the man before her, there stood a red and pulsing figment of depravity.

He is already so far gone, she thought. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled a white mist. "You will rise above all wizards. Admired, exalted and above all else feared." As she spoke, the mist flowed from her mouth, swirling around and forming the shape of a skull above the man's head. He looked up at it, but remained silent. She continued. "Your ideals will be shared by many and they will bow to your command. They will indoctrinate your philosophy into their lives. They will serve you. They will kill for you." A long stream of mist slithered from the skull's mouth and took the form of a snake. "But prophesy will spell your doom." The snake and skull shattered. "A mother's love and a savior of your own making will render you into something less than a man. Less than an insect. You will scrape and crawl your way back to the heights you once stood from, but will fail in the end." Three figures of mist rose from the ground forming two young men and one girl with large wild hair. "The savior will topple you once again aided by one shown to me as the knight. He will keep the savior's spirit true and just." The figures of the two men slowly evaporated. The hag's voice raised an interval. "But she will pave his path. She will guide him with her wisdom and cunning. The true irony in your downfall. The death of Voldemort," she hissed his self-made name as the mist began to swirl chaotically, "will be brought upon by a muggle-born witch."

"No!" a bright green light blasted the hag backwards and into the wall. Her head cracked hard, breaking the oracular spell and with it dispelling her brief vision. She slid to the ground coughing. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders. "You will tell me her name," he demanded.

The woman grinned. "You will learn it in time. This is not the question you should be asking me."  
The hands on her shoulders tightened for a second, then relaxed and withdrew. "How do I change it? How do I keep myself from being defeated?"

"Come closer, dear boy, I'll tell you." He leaned towards her and tilted his ear towards her mouth. She breathed deep. "You can't!" she hollered in his ear and laughed uncontrollably as he flinched backwards. "Your destiny is set, Little Riddle, and it must play out! But," she sneered conspiratorially, "since you're going to kill me here anyway, there is a way you could be given a second chance." She reached to a golden chain she wore around her neck and grasped it tightly. The heavy pendant hung from the necklace but stayed hidden beneath her shirt. "The choice is yours, but it must be made now, I'm afraid." She levelled her face up where she knew he stood before her. "You can either take what I am offering you now or resign yourself to the fate I've shown you. You'd die a failure and, eventually, be remembered as nothing more than a small paragraph in history."

He was silent for only a moment. "You hardly give me a choice. What would you have me do?"

"What you do best," she sneered. "Raise your wand… and kill me."

The subtle rustling of robes signaled his lack of hesitation. She pulled on her chain and the pendant slid out of her shirt. Focusing intently on her vision of his defeat, she flicked her finger against the glass trinket and let it spin as she held it in front of her chest.

"Avada Kedavra!" The blast broke through the rotating necklace piece and pierced her heart. She gasped while her body arched painfully through the killing curse, but she held strong to her vision. The air around them blew violently and she had the distinct feeling of being pulled into herself. In an instant, all became still and she lay dying upon dew-dropped grass.  
Hecate, Morgan, deer sisters, forgive me for tampering one last time in the fates of men. But hopefully, she thought as her heart stopped, hopefully my soul will rest in peace knowing he has a chance to do what's right and make a difference…

Tom blinked in confusion at his surroundings. They were in a forest and night's darkness surrounded them. The old woman was dead at his feet. He bent down to look closer at the broken object she had clutched in her hand. Small white sand slowly leaked from broken glass. A time-turner?

He snapped his head up as raised voices in the distance shouted out. He walked briskly through the trees and stopped at a cliff's edge. There, peaking out over the tree tops, was Hogwarts. Hanging above it was the remnants of a spell that only he knew...

Morsmodre.

A slowly rising sun put an end to the Dark Mark and cast light over the aftermath of complete chaos. Hogwarts was in ruins, but students and teachers were running to each other and…laughing? His gaze fell onto a tall, cloaked figure lying dead on the ground. It was him. He could feel it. He clutched his wand tightly. This was his defeat. And they smiled. They celebrated. Immediately, he knew he had to leave. He must go into hiding and learn all that had come to pass. He would reform his plan, and he would kill that girl.

The one with the wild hair.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
3 years later

Hermione patiently sipped her lemon and ginger tea while her red-headed and pregnant friend busied herself around the kitchen. Ginny Potter merrily unloaded Hermione's boxed dishes and chose cabinet space for them with the expertise of one accustomed to moving about a well-organized kitchen.

"Gin, as much as I appreciate the help, I really don't feel right sitting here while you do all of my unpacking."

"Shut it, Hermione. I'm pregnant, not inept. What exactly do you expect to get done with your wand arm in a sling?"

Hermione frowned down at her arm. Three days of choking down home-made skele-gro had her almost completely healed, but moving her shoulder was out of the question until the potions no longer had an effect. She made a mental note to owl for a new supply of scarab beetles in case she needed to brew more. Sighing in defeat, she leaned back against her chair. "I guess you're right, but don't worry about any of the bigger stuff. I've hired movers to set it all up for me next weekend."

Ginny paused to look at her incredulously. "Muggle movers? To move all that stuff?" She gestured to Hermione's new mattress, broken down bed frame and assorted furniture that sat stuffed in the corner of what would eventually be a living room. "With their hands?"

Hermione chuckled lightly into her mug. "Yes, Ginny. And then I'll pay them with my muggle money. From my wallet," she mocked her sarcastically. "I'm in London! Moving the muggle way is kind of expected here. Besides, you've helped me enough."

Ginny clicked her tongue and muttered a quiet cleansing spell on the counter-tops. "I just don't see why you felt the need to move all the way out into the muggle masses. Was getting this far away from Ron really all that necessary?"

Hermione pressed her lips tightly together and looked out the window.

"Right. You won't talk about it. You won't tell your best friend why you suddenly broke your engagement with my brother and decided to move your life practically next door to your job."

"Ginny, please…"

"I just want you to understand one thing, Hermione, then I'll let this go." Ginny's green eyes stared hard into Hermione's. "I know Ron has been in a rut lately. Being asked to step down as an auror was a hard blow to his ego and no amount of success at George's shop is going to help that. I understand wanting to give him space to figure his issues out, but don't let whatever this is tear the two of you apart." She smiled sweetly. "You two were meant to be!"

Hermione forced a smile. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind."

"Good," Ginny smiled back. "And you know I'll be here for you any time if you want to talk."

Hermione raised here eyebrow skeptically and looked down at Ginny's prominent 'baby bump'. "Sure, Gin. Maybe any time in the next two months."

Ginny laughed and flicked her wand at another box of dishes, letting them swoop through the air and land neatly stacked in another cabinet. "Even after James is born."

The rest of the evening passed amicably. Ginny was playing the part of the dutiful house wife better than Hermione had expected of her. Ginny was one of those girls that could have gone in any direction with her life. She had been scouted as a Quidditch Chaser, her scores on her NEWT were good enough for working in a few Ministry departments and her writing skills wouldn't have taken working as a reporter off the table. She was a jack of all trades, but she chose to stay at home and raise baby Teddy Lupin. Hermione had never seen her happier. Now that she was pregnant, motherhood looked good on her. For the last three years, Harry, Ginny and Ted lived together in a humble cottage near The Burrow. Molly made frequent visits while Harry was at the Auror's office to help Ginny with the young child. Her dream of becoming a grandmother had finally seen fruition through her youngest child and she took every opportunity to dote. Hermione hadn't completely written off becoming a parent, but being an auror did put a damper on the home life, which Harry could attest to.

As the sun began to set, Ginny decided to return to the cottage and prepare dinner before Harry returned. She pecked Hermione on the cheek and exited through the fireplace.  
Checking her watch, she opened her purse and reached for a vial of skele-gro. Taking a deep breath, she uncorked the small tube and knocked it back. She didn't have to suffer long through the taste. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder and she fell to her knees gritting her teeth. She counted backwards from ten in her mind and focused on her breathing. Over the years, she'd been dealt many types of physical pain. It came with the job and she'd learned to block it out to an extent. She slowly rose back to her feet and sat on her couch where a box that Ginny brought her lay unopened. Harry had sent his wife with progress reports on all of Hermione's open cases. He knew that she would want to stay up to date on them. Deciding that focusing on work would help distract her from the pain, she reached for a thick file labeled "Priority". She flipped it open and read through the latest incident. A family of wizards had been attacked two days ago. The mother, father and older sister were all slain, but their newborn baby boy was left alive in his crib with a lightning bolt carved into his forehead. Twenty-three similar cases were in the single folder. Each family, after having a baby boy born into the family, ended up murdered. The babies were the sole survivors each time, enduring only the strange cut along their foreheads. The Prophet had the wizarding world in a panic claiming "He Who Must Not Be Named" had returned, despite the Ministry of Magic's press release stating these were copy-cat murders. Harry had remained calm on the outside, but Hermione knew each murder put across his desk was a constant reminder of his parents. And with a baby of his own on the way, Hermione feared for the entire family. The murderer's pattern wouldn't put them in his line of sight for another couple of months, but they would need to go into hiding before too long. There was no denying the Potters were an inevitable target.

After an hour of sorting through the lesser case files, Hermione noticed the pain beginning to recede, signaling the potion's work was done. The last two potions she took had lasted all through the night. Carefully, she peeled back the Velcro and pulled her arm free. She held her hand out in front of her and watched in dismay as her fingers trembled. She swore and grabbed her wand holding it out straight and trying to relax her grip. The wand shook violently. There was no way she would be able to cast spells with her right arm.  
"Damn you, Ronald Weasley. You bloody bastard…"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
Dark Eyes Meet Amber

Tom adjusted his pristine, tailored robes in the mirror. He'd allowed his black hair to grow out and frame his face. His dark eyes scanned the mirror appraisingly before turning to leave the guest room. The Malfoy Manor was much how he remembered it when Abraxas invited him in their early years. He was fortunate that Lucius recognized him from his father's school photos. The sheer terror in his eyes when Tom apparated through his wards into his living chambers had been delicious. Tom was to be introduced to the public as Thomas Yew, a distant relative of the Malfoy's and lost to the family tree due to impure blood unions. Thomas and his family had all been quibs and were murdered during Voldemort's uprising. Quibs rarely ever registered within the wizarding community, preferring to live as muggles. This made it easy for Lucius' more dubious connections to forge documentation claiming young Thomas lived in the muggle society with his family, but was tutored at an early age by a wizard family friend when his magic began to become apparent in order to handle it properly. The story was mutually beneficial to Lucius as well. While Tom would freely be able to integrate into society, Lucius would be seen by the public eye as sheltering a family member in need with impure blood. This would cast him in a more redeeming light. That's not to say that Tom gave Lucius much of a choice. Abraxas had never been fond of a well-placed Cruciatus Curse. Tom gambled that his son wouldn't like it either. He'd been right.

Aside from the two of them, the manor was vacant. Lucius' wife divorced him after the battle and moved to live with her son, Draco, and his wife. As Lucius phrased it, they had become "main stream" in their ways and could no longer stand by him after all he'd done as a Death Eater. Tom still had a hard time catching up with how indifferent society had become in regards to blood status. He remembered fine restaurants that would only cater to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. At some point, the version of himself that had become the snake-faced Voldemort obsessed with pure-blood ideals. This boggled his mind. From what he'd seen in the few years he'd had to live in the future, blood purity didn't mean much when it came to magical strength. In fact, he'd read studies that suggested impurity actually strengthened the gift. This explained much in regards to his own talents, he thought.

He entered the parlor where Lucius was rigidly sitting on his sofa. The house elf, Nixy was serving him coffee. Her pointed ears shot up in alarm and she spun around quickly, deft hands barely disturbing the trey she carried.

"Nixy is having a cup ready for M-Master Thomas if he is wanting it," she stammered in her squeaky voice, clearly frightened.

Tom smiled sweetly. "How very thoughtful of you, Nixy. But no, I have someplace to be today." His cold eyes slid to the greying man who stirred his cup absently and stared off into the air. Stubble grew across his hollowed face unevenly and his long hair drooped lifelessly across a wrinkled robe. "Lucius, I imagine I won't be back until later today. I expect the funds we spoke of last night to be transferred into my vault by then." The older man made no indication that he'd heard him. The house elf tapped him knee lightly and he flinched, blinking rapidly. "Do we understand each other, Lucius?" Tom asked icily.

"Y-yes, My Lord," he stammered. "It will be done as you say."

"Very good," Tom praised him, turning toward the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder from an ornamental dish sitting atop its mantle and stepped atop the dead coals. "Oh, and one more thing," he said, turning to face Lucius. "Do yourself a favor and make yourself more presentable in my presence. You're the very personification of neglect." He sneered. "Ministry of Magic." The green ashes poured out between his long fingers and he disappeared in a puff of dust.

The temperature dropped a few degrees, Tom noted as he stepped from the fireplaces along the edge of the Ministry of Magic's Atrium. His shoes clicked against the marble floor as he walked, taking in his surroundings. He couldn't help but grin in revelry of the irony he'd found himself apart of. Here, England's best and brightest gathered in hopes of putting a stop to dark wizards everywhere and they had just willingly invited their worst fear inside for a job.

* * *

Hermione knew that the office would be curious about her absence, but she wasn't at all prepared for the wall of bodies that rushed forward to meet her.

"So, the she-lion finally got struck down on the job, eh?" Todric Barnicus guffawed. He was one of the Auror department's oldest members. He mostly took care of the petty theft and missing wizard cases. His views on witch aurors was a bit outdated, but for the most part he was a good man and had expert advise for most types of cases. His thick beard hid a sincere smile and he patted her shoulder.

"You look fine, was it a Death Eater?" Penelope Clearwater asked. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her blue eyes looked worried. The ex-girlfriend of Percy Weasley had been working in the Auror department as their secretary and case collector. All cases that came in by owl were deftly sorted and delivered to the appropriate Auror for handling. She had tried desperately for the last couple of years to befriend Hermione, but they had nothing in common. Still, Hermione stayed polite occasionally entertained her invites out on the town.

Neville pushed towards her, concerned. "How are you feeling? Should you be back so soon? What happened?" Neville had joined to become an Auror with Harry and Ron after the battle at Hogwarts. He reminded her of simpler times and she was always glad to see him. Except, perhaps, at that particular moment.

"Everyone, I'm fine. Can I at least get my coffee before you start interrogating me like I'm the next big Dark Wizard?" They backed off, chuckling. Hermione spotted Clarence Clearwater, Penelope's cousin and the Ministry Department Runner. He wheeled a cart of pepper-up potions, but one tall white cup stood out surrounded by the small vials. "Clarence!" she called in relief and briskly stepped towards him. The scrawny, sandy-haired man grinned awkwardly and reached for the cup. "You got my coffee! How did you know I'd even be in today?"

He handed her the warm beverage. "I was visiting Penelope over the weekend and she mentioned that Percy said you'd be here. Sorry to hear about you and Ron, by the way." Hermione froze mid-sip. "Break ups are the worst."

The room became silent. All eyes were on the two of them. Hermione sighed, suddenly ready to crawl back into bed. "Thanks for the coffee…" she muttered. Just another piece of her personal life that the whole world would probably know by the end of the day. She quickly strode towards her office where she knew she could sit alone and process being back. In her haste, she turned the corner of the hallway sharply and ran smack into to exact person she did not want to talk to. With a shriek, she lost hold of the precious hazelnut-flavored coffee and it spilled down the front of her black robes.  
"S-Shit!" Hermione hissed savagely. Luckily, she could barely see that her robes were soaked.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped. "Er… well, sorry about that. But listen, I need to…"

"Not now, Harry," Hermione snapped. She brushed around him and continued to her office.

"But you don't understand!" He followed after her.

"Harry, would you just drop it for now? I have work to catch up on." She pushed open her office door and stopped in the door frame, her breath caught in her throat. She waited for Harry. "Harry Potter. Why exactly is there another desk in my office?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you." He had a worried look in his eyes. "Kingsley wants to speak with you. Right now."

Hermione sat stiffly before Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic and head deputy of Magical Law Enforcement. She felt small on the other side of his massive desk. Memos folded into enchanted paper airplanes zipped through a small window in his door and unfolded neatly into piles along the edge of his desk. She adjusted her robes, hoping he couldn't tell they were soaked with coffee. She didn't want to chance a drying charm going awry in front of her peers. Nobody needed to know the extent that her injury inhibited her casting spells.

"Sir, I don't know how I feel about training a partner at this point in my investigation." Had she done something wrong? Had he lost faith in her work on the case?  
Shacklebolt glanced over a scroll. "His credentials are top notch, Ms. Granger. I don't believe much training will need to be done at all before he becomes an asset to you. In your time here with us, you've never had a partner and I have let it slide because your results spoke for themselves. Many of the Death Eaters rotting in Azkaban have you to thank for their incarceration. Recent events have reminded me, though, that you are not indestructible. This You-Know-Who Copy Cat has started escalating and I feel it's time you had someone watching your back especially after you wrote in your last report that you believe there might be multiple murderers."

"Why not partner Harry with me then? If there's anyone that can support me in a dangerous situation, it would be him."

Kingsley shook his head and his features grew tired. "Harry is at the top of our list of potential targets. I don't want him anywhere near the case. I would have had him and his family in hiding by now if he wasn't so hell-bent on holding out until his wife goes into labor. He doesn't see any risk until he has his child. Still such a child himself in so many ways. He has your similar air of indestructability. Don't think I made this choice lightly. I honestly believe this pairing will work well for you. Your new partner's scores on the NEWT exam were exceptional."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "How exceptional?"

Kingsley smiled. "Better than yours." He reached towards a small glass globe hovering an inch above his desk and twisted it once. "Ms. Clearwater, would you have your cousin escort our new recruit into my office?"

"Yes, Minister," Penelope's voice rang out clearly from the floating device. Hermione crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, her curiosity temporarily outweighing her annoyance.  
A few moments later, Clarence poked his head through the door. "I've brought him, Minister, sir," he said, fidgeting with his bow tie.

"Thank you, Clarence, you may let him in."

Long, pale fingers wrapped around the door frame, opening it wide and her partner let himself into the room. Hermione's flesh broke out in goose bumps. Dark eyes bore into hers and she felt an unexplainable need to run. To scream. To hide and forever try to forget ever seeing those eyes. His gaze tore away as he turned towards Kingsley and he smiled sincerely. She blinked, suddenly confused at why she'd thought him so terrifying. That smile looked so natural on his face. She realized quickly that he was quite attractive. His tall, lean frame moved gracefully across the room and he shook Kingsley's hand. His black hair hinted at a natural wave that he kept in clean submission.

"Thomas Yew, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person," Kingsley said jovially.

"Thank you for having me, Minister. Your consideration for this job is the highest honor." His low voice was cool. Most people who met the Minister of Magic for the first time practically stumbled over themselves out of being star-struck, but Thomas' greeting was free of any nerves or tension.

Kingsley chuckled, "I appreciate the manners, Mr. Yew, but there's no need to be so formal here. We will see a lot of each other and it might become tiresome. May I introduce you to your partner?" He motioned to Hermione who schooled her features and stood to greet him. He turned to look at her once more, but his eyes were blank. She felt no hint of the panic that had overwhelmed her a moment ago.

_Goodness, what's the matter with me_, she thought. "I'm Hermione Granger." She held out her hand and was pleased at how confident her voice sounded. Thomas looked at her outstretched palm for a moment. She had reached out with her left hand instead of her right. Would he think that strange?

He smiled and took her hand with his left, his grip firm. "Yes, Ms. Granger. Your reputation precedes you."

She chuckled darkly as they both took a seat. "You're a Daily Prophet reader, I presume?"

"The Prophet, I've learned, is not the best source for news, but we're not exactly able to choose from a variety. But no, I'm speaking of your publications in the Runes and Ancient Spells Periodicals. Your translations were brilliant. And to think you completed your research all in your final year at Hogwarts."

Hermione beat back a blush. Not many people knew or even feigned interest in her studies. Most just wanted to know what it was like being friends with the famous Harry Potter. "Well, what about you? My entire life is pretty much out on display for anyone curious to read about."

He clasped his hands together on Kingsley's desk. "There's not much to tell, really. My parents had me home schooled my entire life. Being a half-blood, they preferred a learning environment that catered to both muggle and wizard lifestyles. I excelled in my studies because of this. My rate of learning wasn't held back by the slower progression of other students. By the time I was seventeen, I made the decision to fully integrate myself into wizarding society. Shortly after I left home, my parents were killed by Death Eaters during their raids on muggles."

Hermione cringed, but sadly this wasn't an uncommon story. Thomas was lucky to at least know who was responsible for the murders. Most muggles were either lied to or confounded in order to protect the secret of magic.

He continued. "I reached out through my mother's family tree and was able to locate a distant relative in Wiltshire. I believe you went to school with his son. Mr. Lucius Malfoy graciously accepted me into his home."

Hermione stared at him wide-eyed. "Lucius?" she asked incredulously. She vaguely remembered hearing that after his family left him, he had taken in a ward. But a half-blood likely bastardized out of his family tree?

"Yes," he smiled. "Mr. Malfoy has done so much to help me get on my feet. I truly owe him much. But that is where my story ends, I'm afraid. Shortly after my NEWT results were calculated, I received an owl from the Ministry. Becoming an Auror wasn't my childhood dream, but the deaths of my parents changed my path. I wanted to help prevent such tragedies from ever happening to anyone else."

Kingsley nodded. "We are all sorry for your loss, Thomas, and your conviction is noble. Welcome to the team. I would like for Ms. Granger to get you familiar with the cases you will be working on together. Show him around the ministry and introduce him to your resources."

Hermione rose from her chair, still unsure about the turn of events. "Yes, Minister." Thomas stood as well and followed her out.

Once back in her office – or their office, she had to start reminding herself – she motioned to the new piece of furniture. "Please, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Yew. We have quite a lot to cover."  
"Of course, Ms. Granger, and I am eager to learn everything you have to tell me, but…" He touched the front of his robes. "Forgive me, but I must point out that you are covered in what I believe my nose perceives to be hazelnut coffee." Hermione could feel the blush as it began from the top of her head and quickly heated its way down her neck. "Despite the savory aroma, I don't believe you want to continue today in such attire."

She tried to think quickly. His full attention was on her. If she was careful, perhaps she could handle a simple cleansing spell with her left hand. She slowly reached to her wand on her desk. His cool hand stopped her movements.

"Please, allow me." He pointed his wand straight at her. Her heart fell into her stomach at standing unarmed at the other end of it. "Tergeo," he said. The coffee warmed and evaporated off her robes, though remnants of the smell still lingered on them.

"Th-thanks, Mr. Yew, but-"

He held his hand up. "Please, call me Thomas."

"Thomas. Right," she said hastily in her eagerness to save face. "But I was perfectly capable of casting my own spell."

"Oh, I am well aware of your casting abilities." Hermione couldn't tell if his smile was sincere or mocking. "But I want to be as useful to you as possible. I have no qualms being your… right-hand man, so to speak."

The bloody prat knows. How had he guessed? Had it been the left handshake she offered in Shacklebolt's office? His face might be the perfect façade of politeness, but Hermione knew when she was being played. But what could she do? She chose to ignore the dual meaning of his comment.

"Right, then, let's begin today with familiarizing you with our cases." She motioned to the folders she had neatly filed on her desk. "Every Auror or team of aurors is assigned many cases every day ranging by levels of priority. Penelope Clearwater – you saw her in the reception area – receives the owled requests to our department and distributes them out to us. As of now, I only have one high priority case. This is due to its severity. Normally, I'll have two or three priority cases. Smaller cases, however, have also been assigned to me. They might not seem as important, but everything is time sensitive." Hermione sat at her desk and reached for her first case file. Thomas stood behind her chair and she tried hard to ignore his close proximity. "For example," she flipped open the file, "this was delivered just this morning." Her finger pointed at the top of the page and slowly moved down as she recited the important information. "Maryweather Hansley seems to have lost her familiar… again. Looks like it's the third cat of hers to go missing in a month. You and I will need to pay her a visit today and take her official statement. Perhaps we can even sort this out upon our initial visit. If not, we aim to have them handled within a week." She closed the file and reached for a the large folder at the end of her desk. "The rest of these are similar in nature, but I've already collected the initial statements from those involved. They require further investigation as they currently stand. Once completed, I return the closed files to Penelope and she submits them to Minister Shacklebolt for his final approval. This case, however," she touched the folder lightly, "is the reason you've been teamed up with me." She took a deep breath. "We've been referring to this as 'The Potter Murders Copy-Cat'. The Prophet has more inaccurately called them 'You-Know-Who's Third Rising'. I want to begin this briefing by stressing the fact that this is most certainly not the doing of Voldemort. I don't even believe they are the woks of a single witch or wizard."

Thomas' breath rustled the hair on top of her head as he read over her seated frame. "How can you be so sure it isn't Voldemort?"

Hermione noted how easy it was for him to say the name. After so many years of it being taboo to even think his name, most still referred to him as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She turned her head and gazed up at Thomas. "Voldemort is dead. I watched him die."

"And I suppose you would know if he was alive and waltzing around killing people." His eyes penetrated her.

"I suppose I would." She considered his statement. "But, the ugly bastard wouldn't exactly be easy to miss in a crowd." She didn't notice the hand on the back of her chair tense up. "And why the show? If Voldemort really was alive, he'd be in hiding waiting for his chance to exact revenge against Harry. He wouldn't give him a heads-up first. No, this is the work of his sympathizers. I'm almost sure of it. Most likely, his remaining Death Eaters who have yet to be caught are trying to instill the fear of him back into the public's mind. There's also no real directive to any of the killings. Voldemort always struck with purpose and calculation. These murders, at least when they began a year ago, felt like the work of…" she pressed her lips together thinking for the right word.

"An obsessive amateur?"

She snapped her fingers and smiled. "You've got it, that's exactly what this feels like. Anyway, the latest murder was just three days ago. You and I will go take care of Maryweather Hansley's missing cat and then make our way to the latest crime scene. But first, I suppose I should give you the tour."

They walked side-by-side through the Auror's office. Hermione introduced him to those she saw, but most had gotten an early start and were out on their cases. She spotted Harry's familiar messy black hair. "I suppose you should meet our star Auror," she muttered, still annoyed about her coffee incident with him that morning. "Harry!" she called. He turned and spotted Hermione, then he spotted Thomas and his smile turned into a confused frown. They walked up to him and Thomas extended his hand in greeting.

"Mr. Potter, this is an honor." He sounded genuinely pleased and Harry forced a smile, brows still knit together. "I'm Yew, Thomas Yew."

Harry took his hand. "It's- a pleasure, Mr. Yew." He paused, shaking his head lightly. "Forgive me, but have we met before?"

Thomas cocked his head to the side in thought. "No, I don't believe so. I doubt I'd forget meeting you. I'm still fairly new to the area as well."

"He wasn't a Hogwarts student, so it's unlikely you've crossed paths with him," Hermione stated, looking around the office for more people to introduce Thomas to.

"And you're Hermione's new partner?"

Thomas' smile widened. "That's right. I'm quite excited to be working with her."

Harry took his hand back and rubbed his forehead absently.

"Alright, Thomas, we've got places to be." Hermione cut the conversation short, eager to continue avoiding Harry. As if suddenly remembering she was there, Harry's eyebrows drew up high.

"Wait, Hermione, would you mind coming over tonight to talk? Ginny made pie and I know you hardly have any time to cook for yourself."

"Maybe some other time, Harry. I've got other plans tonight."

She spun on her heal and Thomas gave Harry a casual nod before turning to follow her. They exited through the reception area and entered a lift.

"Atrium," Hermione said and the lift slowly descended. She huffed a sigh and leaned against the back wall.

"So, what other plans could possibly be more important that dining with the famous Harry Potter and eating his wife's delicious pie?"

Hermione snorted and glanced at him. "Never be lured by pie, Thomas. He's trying to pry into my personal business."

"Is it not a friend's job to pry?"

"Not when they have an agenda."

"Well, now even I'm curious."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't even have pie to bribe me with. Nice try."

He laughed. She supposed it was a nice laugh. The lift doors opened and they walked into the Atrium. "Now," she said, "I'm sure you're already familiar with this floor. For those of us under the Ministry's employ, we enter and exit through the floo gates along that back wall." She gestured to the fire places where witches and wizards were appearing and disappearing in green puffs of smoke. She guided him toward a plaque near the Fountain of Magical Brethren. She pointed to a notation that listed the different levels of the Ministry.

"We are currently eight levels deep underground. Our office, as you know, was on the second level. Above that on the first level is Minister Kingsley's main office, but you'll honestly usually find him on our floor in the office of the Head Auror. The third level is the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. I suggest you make good friends with our team on that floor. A large amount of our cases require their back-up expertise. The fourth level is the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. We rarely call on them for help, but we'll occasionally get wrapped up in their problems from time to time dealing with poachers and what-not. Below them is the Department of Internal Magical Cooperation. They handle the more delicate law-making and international trade agreements. For the most part, our two departments try to stay out of each other's way. The sixth level is the Department of Magical Transport. Any place you need to get to quickly can be set up with them. Ask for Arthur Weasley and tell him you work with me." She bit her tongue and re-thought that last bit. Arthur was likely cross about her leaving Ron. "Actually, better to ask for Percy Weasley. He's got more pull lately." And he's less likely to bring family drama to work.

"The seventh level down is The Department of Magical Games and Sports." She grimaced and looked at Thomas. "Are you a Quidditch fan, Thomas?"

He shrugged. "I never fancied sports as much as my peers. They always seemed a bit of a waste of time and energy." He looked mildly abashed. "That's not to say that I in any way am downplaying my admiration of your friend's accomplishments while on the Hogwarts Quidditch team. His skills on a broom were certainly commendable."

She waved off his compliment off. "Please, you don't need to sugar coat the game to me. I hate Quidditch. Sitting through seven years of games then hearing about it from Ron all day long-" she stopped herself. "Well, I agree with you. It's a waste of time. Luckily, outside of requesting us to stand as security for the Quidditch World Cup, we have little to do with those jocks." She slid her finger past the Atrium to the next level. "Below us now is the ninth floor. The Department of Mysteries. That's another department we don't have much involvement with. I recently had a case requested by an Unspeakable of the Time Room. I'd had some previous involvement with an incident some years back, so they entrusted me with a case of missing broken time-turners, but…" Hermione frowned, "they never turned up. Not that broken time-turners are worth anything, but it never feels good to let a case go cold. Finally, there's Basement Level Ten. You can only get there by taking the stairs down in the Department of Mysteries. This is where our court hearings proceed and where we house criminals awaiting transport to Azkaban." She clapped her hands together once, pleased with her explanation. "Any questions?"

"Just one." He touched the plaque lightly, tracing his fingers over the engraved words. "How many people have you sent to Azkaban?"

She blinked, taken aback. "Oh," was all she could say for a moment. She couldn't explain why the question made her feel like a large, sealed off crate in her mind was being pried at. She reminded herself that Thomas was her partner and he would of course want to know such things. "Well, I was able to round up quite a few unruly protestors when I became an Auror, but they didn't serve maximum time. They were mostly pure-bloods who supported Voldemort's regime and didn't want things to revert to how they were before he returned. They vandalized and caused large disturbances, but there weren't any casualties. Once we contained them for a time, they were released on probation. There were about thirty or forty of that bunch. But since then, once the dust settled, the real menaces slowly crawled out of the woodworks. There are currently three criminals in Azkaban because of me. One was a psychotic who killed just for the thrill, one was a Healer at St Mungo's who made many groundbreaking discoveries by killing and experimenting on psych ward patients with no family, and the last was a well-known Death Eater on the run. I got lucky catching him."

"Were you ever injured?"

He eyed her shoulder and she subconsciously turned her body to hide it from his gaze. "Not often, but there were a couple times, yes. Once badly by one of the three I mentioned." She shook her head, fighting off dark memories she preferred to stay buried and forgotten. "Look, there are plenty of Aurors in my department who would absolutely love to sit and tell you there tales over some fire whisky. Despite my notoriety, I couldn't possibly interest you as much as they would."

Thomas cocked his head to the side, inspecting her. "On the contrary, I believe there is much about you to be interested in. And on top of that," he laughed, "do you honestly expect me to prefer drinking partners comprised of old men over a young, well established woman?"

She mentally shoved the flattery aside and poked him in the chest with a stiff finger. "Listen, Romeo, what I expect is for you to show more interest in your job than your female partner. We can be chummy, but the case is priority here. Do I make myself clear?"

His eyes flashed with an emotion she couldn't decipher, but his features quickly became apologetic and he put his hands in the air. "Forgive me, but I seem to have given you the wrong impression of me. Please understand that I meant nothing untoward. I only wanted you to understand how much I've admired your work since my full immersion in the wizarding world. I sometimes get carried away in my excitement. I will do better to focus on the tasks at hand."

She frowned. "Good," she said, not fully convinced. "Right then, let's get over to the crime scene. I'm interested in seeing what skills you have hiding up your sleeve." She turned and walked towards the floo gates.

Tom took a moment to size her up before following. "The feeling is mutual, Ms. Granger," he said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

~One Week Ago~

"Hermione, love, you're just not the kind of girl a bloke decides to make a move on without a…a…" Ron fumbled drunkenly for the word, looking inside his empty pint as if it might be hiding somewhere at the bottom of it. In the pale green and orange lights of the small pub, Hermione could just make out the subtle fluidity of his movements that hinted at the four pints he'd already consumed. His red hair was a tangled mess on his head and he wore a coffee-stained Beatles t-shirt. When she'd asked him before they left for the bar how he knew The Beatles, he wondered at her sanity because how could he possibly forget the Tales of Beatle Bard after listening to her blather about it for a year straight.

"An ulterior motive?" Hermione provided. She glanced at the dejected man across the pub whom Ron had loudly told off after he'd asked her for the time.

Ron smiled widely. "Yeah! You see? It's like you're in my head. Thass why I love you so much. I'm the only man you can trust not to just leech off your fame. Well, me and Harry, I suppose." He raised his glass for the barkeep to refill it. He continued listening to the bar's live broadcast of a Quidditch tournament.

"Well, thank you Ronald. You certainly know how to make me feel special."

"Oh, come ON now. You know I don't mean that I don't think you're alright looking. It's just that you're not the first girl a guy would pick out. It's important to know!"

She knew there was no arguing the matter with him in the state he was in. It wouldn't matter how much logic she threw at him, it would just make him angry. "Right. Well, I've had enough fun for an evening." She pushed her unfinished drink away from her. She wasn't big on public drinking, unlike Ron who almost felt the need to prove how much he could drink every time they went out. Half the time, she wasn't exactly sure if he even knew who he was trying to impress anymore.

He pursed his lips in thought and nodded. "Yeah, alright. I've just received a new shipment of old muggle things I need to sort through tonight anyway."

Hermione cringed inwardly. Since Ron had quit his job as an Auror, his father had interested him in his own obscure hobby of collecting muggle trinkets and seeing how they worked. Hermione initially was glad that he was enjoying something, but every new "shipment" meant more of their basement could no longer be used. It was beginning to resemble more of a landfill than a proper storage area. Just let it go. _It's not a big deal and this is no place to start an argument,_ she told herself. She adjusted her purse and reached inside. The extension charm she'd once used in her seventh year on her old pouch was now applied to the small, chained clutch. Old habits died hard and it was full of anything she might ever possibly need for another life on the run. Her fingers immediately found the exact sickles and knuts to pay for their beverages and she placed them on the bar. Ron frowned at the money.

"You think I don't have enough money to pay?" He asked in a dangerous tone. Not this again. As a matter of fact, Hermione was absolutely certain he didn't have enough money for the drinks. She also knew he didn't have enough money for the muggle crate he'd bought. It was difficult to make money when one rarely showed up to work. Luckily, it would take a lot more for George to fire his own brother.

"I'm sorry, Ronald," she said softly. "Would you like to pay?"

"No," he snapped. "You already put it out on the counter. Are you trying to make a scene?"

They were_ already_ making a scene. She pointedly ignored the eyes following them as they walked towards the exit and made their way into the midnight drizzle. She just wanted to hurry and get home. Pulling out her wand, she held her hand out to Ron and looked to him expectantly.

"Oh, now you have to side-along apparate me too? Like I'm some ruddy, under-aged whelp? That's how you see me, isn't it?" he yelled.

She was at a loss. Was everything she did wrong? A lump formed in her throat and she commanded herself not to cry. "I just – Ron, there are mandates against apparating while intoxicated. You could get splinched!"

"Apparate yourself, then!" He pulled his wand from his robes and, wobbling on his feet, he disapparated with an audible pop.

Hermione took a moment to rub her temples and take a few deep breaths, calming her nerves. She would be calm. She would not cry. She would go home, cook him is favorite dinner and they would have a nice remainder of their night. It was just the stupid alcohol talking. She tilted her head back, letting the soft rain cool her face, and tried to remember the last time they had been happy. There had been a time, hadn't there? She slowly lifted her wand, focused on her destination and apparated.

He was screaming.

The house was dark and he sounded like he was in another room. "Ron? Ron!" she called through the darkness. "Lumos!" White light beamed from the tip of her wand and she looked franticly in the direction of his voice. Blood trailed the ground from where she stood to the basement door. Her heart feel into her stomach. Move, she told herself and she jolted forward and down the basement steps. "Where are you?" she called, waving her wand light around the piles of muggle rubbish. Her foot got caught in the power cord of a toaster and she balanced herself. She heard whimpering over to her right and spun, finding him crouched and holding a dirty t-shirt around a bloody hand. She rushed to his side and took his arm gently. "Let me see it," she said softly.

"No! I've got it! You're not my bloody mother!" he snarled, turning away from her.

Something in her head snapped and she was enraged. "That is it! Ronald, you're holding a dirty shirt over a gaping wound! I know you'd like to think that's going to work, but unless a festering hand and an amputation is what you want, I strongly suggest you get over yourself for one bloody minute and let me look at it. It's sort of what I'm trained to handle." She spat the words at him. Now was not the time to be tip-toeing around his feelings. He looked at her wide eyed, seemingly at a loss for words. She wrestled his arm over and he finally allowed her to remove the blood-soaked shirt. "Merlin's beard…" she muttered. His left thumb was gone. She pointed her wand at her purse. "Accio wound-cleaning potion." A purple vial floated out of her purse and zipped into her outstretched hand. She pulled out the cork, then paused. "I'm sorry, Ron, but this is going to hurt. But it will disinfect it so we can get it properly bandaged. Alright?" He made no attempt to acknowledge her and she took that as permission to continue. She poured the liquid over the bloody stump. It hissed and smoked. Ron bellowed and shoved her away from him hard. The side of her face and her shoulder slammed against an old refrigerator that was missing its doors. Items Ron had stacked inside on the shelves came crashing down on her. She pushed the junk off, flinching in pain.

"You did that on purpose!" he hollered, holding his still smoking hand. "You like to cause me pain! To watch me suffer!"

She touched her bruising cheek bone softly, brows furrowed at his words. "Ron," she pleaded, trying to move her way out of the rubble. "It's not like that! I had to clean it first, but it's done! Now I can mend it. I'll take you to St. Mungo's if you want-" she paused, looking down at one of the objects on the ground. Her mind couldn't register what she was seeing for a moment. It was so out of place in her life. The life of a witch. The foreign object glinted in the light of her wand, mocking the rules of her new world as it sat heavily on the ground. Fear gripped her heart. It must have been in the refrigerator when she fell into it. "What is that?" she asked quietly, knowing full-well what it was and what it was used for.

"Oh, something you finally don't know?" he bent over and picked up the heavy-metal object in his uninjured hand, it's single eye winking at her as he waved it back and forth. "Little Miss Know-It-All has never seen a gun before?"

The word sounded wrong, almost alien, coming out of his mouth. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear the offensive intruder of her home from his hands and break it. Throw it into the ocean. Get it as far away from her world as possible. It didn't belong. "P-please, just put it back down."

"No!" He pointed it at her. "No, you listen to me for once!" His voice cracked, the alcohol and blood loss keeping him unsteady on his feet.

Hermione slowly put her wand on the ground and stood. Something in her heart broke at having to use basic Auror negotiation tactics against her own fiancé, but she spoke the words anyway. "Okay," she said, hoping her voice wouldn't quiver. "You talk. I'll listen."

"Y-you talk circles around me every time I do something you don't approve of like you're some big-shot. Like you're so better than me because you still work at the Ministry. But I know you. I've known you forever. And you're not shit. Without riding Harry's coat tails, you wouldn't have gotten to where you are now. Oh, but you just love to throw your fancy new cases in my face." His eyes were widening as he became unhinged. The gun continued to watch her, silently goading him to pull the trigger.

"That's true," she admitted calmly. "I just talk and nag and forget how that can make you feel. And knowing Harry really did shoe me in to the department. You're completely right in feeling that way."

"You're damn right I am! I'm the man here! Why couldn't you just be more like Ginny? She stays home and takes care of Harry like a woman is supposed to! Why does he always get the life I can't have?"

"Ron," she consoled, "You have so much that he doesn't. You have your parents and-"

"Stop proving me wrong all the time!" he shouted, the gun leveling out straight in front of him, the barrel even with her eyes. "You're always talking against me! Always proving how stupid I am! That's why they asked me to resign from the Auror's Department!"

Hermione knew this wasn't the case. Ron had been unable to act under high intensity situations. Kingsley told him that it was a common result of people involved in the war and was nothing to be ashamed of. With proper counseling, he would have been welcome back on the team, but Ron had decided to give up instead. The ease of blaming everyone and everything around him was too tempting of an excuse to pass up.

Hermione forced a small smile. "I'm so glad you're finally telling me this. I feel like I've learned a lot. I've been a real sorry excuse for a wife to you." She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry throat. "Why don't you put that away and you can tell me more up in the living room?"

He looked at the gun and grinned. "This really scares you, doesn't it?" He waved it back and forth. "Serves you right for being such a snarky bitch for so long. Knocked you down a few pegs, bet I did."

"You sure did," Hermione agreed, her teeth grinding hard beneath her smile.

"Well, you can stop worrying. Rusty thing's broken anyway. Look," he pointed it at her and pulled the trigger.

She didn't feel the pain. The deafening bang froze her thought process. Her right shoulder felt hot and tingled like she'd suddenly contracted a bad sun burn. Then she looked at it. Blood spread across her shirt. She dropped to the ground in a squat, holding her shoulder tightly to try and stop the bleeding.

"Hermione?"

She looked up at Ron who stood frozen, still holding the gun. A mix of rage and betrayal filled her. She snatched her wand, cringing at the dull ache of using her arm and apparated away.  
She appeared, still kneeling, on the tile floor of the St. Mungo's waiting area. Breathing deeply, she caught the eyes of a mediwitch who dropped her clip board in alarm. Then, Hermione's vision went black.

* * *

It was hard thinking about what Ron had done. It was hard to admit it to herself that it all hadn't been a freak nightmare. It was harder thinking of what it would be like to leave work and not go home to the house they'd shared for the last couple years and instead go to an empty apartment. But the hardest thing currently was having to sit so damn close to Thomas Yew on a muggle bus. It was cramped with early-morning commuters and they were lucky the squeeze into a space just wide enough for the two of them. She tried not to focus on where their thighs touched while looking across him and out the window. Even after reprimanding him earlier for his flirtations, innocent and vanilla as they truly did seem, she hated to admit that she was mildly attracted to him. She could smell a subtle hint of peppermint and leather from their close proximity and the guilt she felt at liking it crushed her heart. Only a few days away from Ron and her heart was fluttering over another man. She was disgusting. Perhaps that's why she'd been so hard in trusting him. She made a note to go easier on her new partner in the future and not let her own insecurities color her attitude toward him.

She eyed his outfit. Before leaving the Ministry, they both transfigured their robes into something more suitable for walking around Muggle London. His skills at transfiguration were, expectedly, on point. What she wasn't expecting was for him to be in a suit that looked like a prop from an old black and white film. The slacks were high wasted and baggy and she could almost swear she'd seen his tie in her grandfather's collection. Hermione hardly was one to care about fashion, but even this was too much for her. She had him remove his tie and blazer, then transfigured his pants to a more modern cut.

"I suppose my parents were a bit old fashioned," he'd smiled when she finished her work on him and began transfiguring her own robes. Using her left hand for the task was easier than working most spells, since it didn't require quite as much wand waving as it did imagination and intent.

"A bit is right," she agreed. She finished up and stood in form-fitted black pants and a boat-necked white blouse. He looked at her with a small frown of disapproval. "What?" she asked.

He blinked and shook his head. "It's nothing."

"No, tell me, did I get something wrong?" she turned her head around, checking her work.

"No, it's fine, I just thought you would choose something more appropriate for a lady."

She raised her eyebrow. "Like a dress?" He nodded. "With lacey fringe and a great big bow on my back?"

"You're having a go at me," his eyes darkened.

She laughed. "You really were home-schooled. For the record, you won't catch me dead in a dress. Or heals, for that matter."

"And why is that?"

Hermione admired her sneakers. "I don't wear anything that I can't run in."

Back in the bus, Hermione watched the grey scenery fly by the window. The cloudy weather seemed to fit the look of the small town they were passing through. Weathered power lines and large trees stood as age markers. Small stores stood vacant and construction seemed halted in certain areas. She guessed it might have been livelier thirty or forty years ago.

Thinking back to her mental map of the town, she estimated they would exit the next stop. As the bus began to slow, she stood, thankful to no longer be stuck to Thomas' hip. They got off the bus and Hermione looked at the street signs to gain her bearings.

"A block and a half to the right, second house on the left," Thomas said, his arm brushing against hers as he passed, leading the way. She pursed her lips and followed him down the short path through the small neighborhood. The house they stopped at was completely covered in weeds and strange looking plants. The narrow path to the front door was barely visible. Thomas motioned for her to go ahead of him.  
"How much do you want to bet that half these plants are in violation of the international statute of wizarding secrecy?" she asked while stepping over what looked like wild mandrake stalks. Neville would have loved this case.

"I don't doubt it," he agreed. They got to the door and Hermione knocked three times, paint chipping under her knuckles as she did so.

"Comiiiiiiing," a sing-song voice from inside chimed. The door opened and a heavy-set woman in her forties smiled broadly at them. Her pale skin looked almost ashen and her neutral hair sat flat on her head. She shoved a trey of chocolate blobs in their faces. "I made these just for your visit to show how much I appreciate you coming all the way out here. Take as many as you want!"

Hermione eyed the sweets awkwardly. They looked like they were pure, hardened sugar that had melted and hardened into the strange shapes before her. She tried not to gag at the sickly-sweet aroma assaulting her nostrils and declined them with a smile. Thomas shook his head as well. "No thank you, ma'am."

Miss Maryweather Hornsley's looked appauled and her hands began the tremble slightly. "But, I made them for you."

Hermione blanched, not wanting to offend her. "I'm sorry, I'm sure they're wonderful, but I just don't like sweet things."

The woman's thin eyebrow shot up, wrinkling the skin on her forehead. "Well, what's wrong with you? Who doesn't like sweet things?" she spat.

Hermione cocked her head and was about to tell the woman where she could stick her chocolates when Thomas placed his hand gently on her shoulder. "We came here on official business, but I can appreciate your attempt to brighten our day. Why don't we get all the unpleasantness out of the way first, then enjoy your chocolates? I would like to leave here with a sweet taste in my mouth."

Maryweather flustered and blushed. "Oh my! Well, you can take them all with you when you leave!" she gushed, clearly smitten with the thick charm he buttered her with. She gazed into his perfect smile, then turned back to Hermione. "I'm glad that at least someone will enjoy them." Hermione was suddenly glad of Thomas' presence. She wasn't sure if she cared much about finding her cat. The woman made way for them to step inside and a new smell smacked them in the face. Hermione waited for Maryweather to walk ahead of them before looking at Thomas.

"Cat piss," she whispered.

His eyes widened. "Do we have to take every case we get assigned?"

"Well, at least she likes you!"

"I'm not sure if that's a point in my favor."

"Come along, you two! Come and meet the family." She called from the living area. The "family" consisted of five cats, all extremely overweight and slow moving. Two seemed permanently glued to her couch and watched them through half lidded green eyes. The other three were lazily rubbing against Maryweather's legs. Pottery acted as small tombs for a variety of dead plants scattered on every available shelf space. The light carpet was stained with a variety of yellowish brown spots and Hermione wasn't in a hurry to try and identify. She walked around to the cat's food bowls and reached down to pick up the remains of what looked like a wrapper from the popular fast food chain, Five Guys.

"Miss Hornsley, do you feed your cats fast food?"

She put her hands on her hips. "As a matter of fact I do and there's nothing wrong with feeding them a burger or two a day. I used to be a veterinary assistant, so I know. If it's good enough for me to eat, it's good enough for my babies."

Hermione was struck dumb. "You're joking."

Thomas cut in quickly. "When was the last time you saw your familiar, Miss Hornsley?"

She snapped her head back to him and grabbed his arm as if in sudden anguish. "Just two nights ago! I was feeding them their nightly snack of shredded cheese and brought them all upstairs for bed. They all have to sleep in the same room as their Mum or they get so scared." Thomas patted her hand on his arm consolingly, but Hermione didn't miss him taking a small step to put a bit of space between them. "I woke up the next morning and Mr. Gary-Cat was gone!

"Was that more or less how the other two went missing as well?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, three in three months." She put her hand over her chest. "I just can't take this stress anymore. I had to contact someone."

"May we examine the bedroom?" asked Thomas.

"Yes! In fact, I have my own theory about what happened that I can show you up there." She waddled up the stairs and they both followed, stepping over the slow-moving cats that swerved through their path. The fowl stench of cat droppings was at its thickest in the bedroom. Had she just spent so much time in the house that she couldn't smell it anymore? Hermione wondered. "I found Gary-Cat's collar right here by the window the next morning," she stated triumphantly, taking a small red collar from her dresser and placing it on the ground. The large window overlooked the front yard's garden, which didn't look much better from the higher vantage point. On the window sill sat a strange popped plant. Unlike all the shriveled plants downstairs, this one seemed healthy. Three long curving stems stood tall with a single large bud on top. A scaly pattern indented the stems. They weren't colorful, but their shape had a certain elegance. Hermione frowned at them. Where had she seen them before?

"I'm quite sure someone came in through my bedroom window and stole my cats. They left the collar here to mock me!"

Hermione sighed. "Miss Hornsley, who would want your cats?"

The woman huffed. "Well, I'm not sure what you're implying."

"What I mean is, do you know anyone who would either want your cats or perhaps want to hurt you in any way? Do you have any enemies?"

Her eyes flashed. "The maintenance man would. I saw him last time I called them to fix the plumbing eyeing my cats weird. Like he might just snatch one up."

Hermione nodded, not fully convinced. "Can you think of anyone else?"

"Miss Hornsley, your cats were not stolen."

Both women turned to Thomas who was stroking the potted plant with his curved finger. "How long have you had this plant?" Hermione frowned and stepped toward the plant to get a better look.

"I bought it from a vender on Diagon Alley about four months ago. He kept selling me plants that died, so I demanded something sturdier that he hadn't sabotaged. He gave me this."

"And you properly feed it?"

"Water and sunlight twice a day," she said proudly. "But what has this got to do with-"

"You have no idea what this plant is, do you?" He gripped the stem and slowly began to squeeze. The flower bud shot open and the long neck of a snake shot out, its mouth opened wide revealing two long, dripping fangs.

Hermione gasped. "They're Cobra Lillies!" She turned to Maryweather. "Miss Hornsley, you can't feed Cobra Lillies just water and sunlight. They require small animals like field mice. You starved them and they… they ate your cats." She looked at the collar on the ground. "They only digest organic substances, so they would have regurgitated the collars."

Thomas released the plant and it wilted over the side of the pot. "Normally, felines have quick enough reflexes to avoid becoming prey to something like a carnivorous plant, but you have raised your cats to be lazy, fat and slow. They're diet made them easy targets."

Miss Maryweather's mouth hung open. "A-are you suggesting that I'm responsible for this?"

Thomas looked at Hermione. "Miss Granger, what are your thoughts?"

She couldn't help but sympathize with the poor woman standing before her. Her love, misguided as it was, had ultimately killed her familiars. "Miss Hornsley, I'm so sorry-"

"Get out of my house," she said, hands balled into fists.

Hermione bit her lip and looked at the Cobra Lillies, two still holding themselves high in their dormant state while the other sagged dead. Had Thomas really needed to kill it? "We can have someone from the Ministry come remove the plant it you wish."

"I said get out of my house!" The woman lunged at Hermione. Thomas' wand was out in an instant, but Hermione's reflexes were accustomed to being attacked head on. She grabbed Maryweather's wrist and, using her forward momentum against her, twisted her around and threw her to the ground. Luckily, lacking the fine motor skills for spell casting held no sway over her self defense training. She leaned down to her ear. "I'm sorry about your cats, ma'am, but take a good look around you. This was no one's fault but your own. I'll send our people to collect the Lillies and any other plants in violation for being in such close proximity to muggles." She straightened up and glanced at Thomas who watched her with a strange look on his face. They left the room in silence, leaving Maryweather Hornsley grieving on the floor. Once back in the living room, Hermione sighed. "Brunch?" she asked him wearily. "I'm not sure if we'll have time to eat once we get to the murder scene."

Thomas' mouth quirked and he offered his elbow to her. "I know just the place." She took it and felt the familiar tug in her abdomen common with apparating. They appeared in front of a small café. The smell of pastries and coffee brewing immediately relaxed the tension in her shoulders. Lilly Dove's Café was nestled down a small street off of Diagon Alley that she'd never traveled. She slid her hand from his arm and they walked into the café. Once they took their seat and made their orders, Thomas lifted his elbow onto the edge of the table and rested his chin in his hand, absent-mindedly watching people as they passed by the window. Hermione took that moment to study him. "I've never even heard of this place before. Do you come here often?"

His eyes slid to her and he shrugged. "It's an occasional pleasure of mine. I enjoy the coffee and the establishment doesn't generate too much traffic." He smiled coyly. "I read your translations of The Tales of Beedle the Bard here. It was quite the charming read."

"I didn't take you for a fan of fairy tales."

"Under my usual circumstances, I'm not. But I grew up mostly hearing my father's muggle tales and folk lore. Wizard fairy tales were surprisingly refreshing. I especially liked your telling of The Three Brothers."  
Hermione schooled her features to remain steady. "And here I thought you would have preferred Babbity Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump."

He chuckled. It was a low sound that vibrated the table. "Over a story about cheating Death himself? Hardly. Tell me, I can't help but wonder. Do you believe these stories have a significant origin?" He watched her carefully. "Muggle fairy tales all seemed to have some sort of basis on actual events. I wouldn't doubt the same would be true of your little book of transcribed tales."

"I suppose so," she said nonchalantly. "But usually, the stories are fabrications designed to teach a lesson. I hardly think the moral of the story is that it's possible to cheat death. All three brothers did die in the end, after all." She gaged his reaction out of the corner of her eye while watching their waitress approach with their food. He couldn't possible know about the Deathly Hollows. Even if he suspected any truth to the story, the Resurrection Stone was lost and the Elder Wand was buried six feet underground with the corpse of Albus Dumbledore.

Coffee and food were set before them and Hermione admired her egg toast. "This smells delicious," she exclaimed, thankful for the distraction from the conversation. "While we eat, why don't I brief you on the case as much as I can before we get to the murder scene." She took a quick bite of her toast and Thomas leaned back, sipping his coffee. "The murders began a little over a year ago. There have been twenty four total to date, each one following the same modus operandi. The victims are all married couples who just had a male child. The killer or killers take them by surprise in their homes usually right before they're about to go to bed. The first few murders were carried out with a simple killing curse to the back. After a while, though, we began seeing signs of torture. For some reason, the torture inflicted on the wife is sometimes worse than that used on the husband. We aren't sure why that is, but I'm leaning toward multiple killers. Perhaps one of them has an issue with women or with his mother. It's not uncommon for psycho paths to have suppressed mommy-issues." She brought her coffee to her lips, missing the white knuckled grip Thomas had around his knife as he cut into his omelet. "The final note of interest is the way the baby is left. None of them were killed. Instead, the killers leave them all in their crib unharmed save for a carved lightning shaped cut in their foreheads. I believe this to be a direct challenge against Harry."  
Thomas nodded, his face neutral. "I've heard his wife is expecting a child soon. A son."

Hermione bit her lip. "There's no doubt in my mind that Harry and his family are the end game here. We have to catch these guys before Ginny Potter has her baby."

"How much time does that give us?"

She frowned. "Two more months."

Thomas apparated them within the wards surrounding the small one-story home that belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth. The front door was wide open, welcoming them to the horrors within. A small sign hung over the door frame that read "Welcome to our Home." Pictures of bumblebees and butterflies smiled brightly. Hermione thought of those same faces smiling down on the killer before he entered the house. They stepped through the door. It looked like there had been a massacre. Furniture was flipped and pushed up along the walls leaving a wide open space. In the center of the room tied to one of the dining room chairs sat the dead body of Mr. Wentworth. The chair was faced away from them. Blood pooled around the legs of the chair and seemed to be smeared across the wooden floor. Hermione held her breath before stepping further. There wasn't any smell of decay in the air; the preservation charms on the bodies would have stopped the decaying process until the Ministry was ready to release them to their families for burial. It wasn't even a real smell that bothered her. It was the this feeling of dark magic hanging stagnant in the room. Breathing it in felt too much like allowing it into her very being. She chided herself for her unwarranted superstition. It's not like she could just not breath the whole time.

"That symbol," Thomas said, looking at the blood on the floor. It took Hermione a few seconds to see what he was talking about. There was a purpose to how the blood was smeared on the ground. She stepped towards the table in the corner of the room and hoisted herself on top of it to get a better view. "What is it?" she wondered aloud. She pulled out her notepad and pen. As the pen tip hit the paper, an uneven line of squiggles formed in her shaky grasp. She bit her lip and pressed harder onto the page in hopes of controlling the movement.

"Mr. Granger?" She looked down at Thomas, not able to mask her frustration. "I find it necessary to point out a small obstacle in our situation. I believe doing so will make both of our jobs more productive."  
She closed her eyes slowly and sighed, defeated. "And what might that obstacle be, Thomas?"

"Your efforts to hide it are commendable, but I would be a poor choice for a partner if I couldn't tell you have issues with your right arm." He held his hand out to help her down. "I also don't have to stand on a table to see and sketch the symbol." His grin curled his lips to the right. She took his hand and he helped her off the table. He placed his hand on her shoulder firmly and stepped close, looking down at her with concern. "I understand why it's important to you that no one finds out, but you can trust that I'll keep your secret if it means keeping you on the case. We're partners, after all."

Hermione gulped. He was so close. She knew he was only trying to reassure her, but his proximity was almost intimate. She tried to step backwards, but found her path away from his body heat blocked by the table he'd helped her down from. His dark-eyed gaze pierced hers and she self consciously looked down at his chest. "I-you're right. I haven't been honest about my situation," she fumbled. She touched her shoulder just beneath where his hand rested. "I was injured. There are some complications, but I'm-" he hand slowly pulled the sleeve of her shirt down her shoulder. Shocked at his audacity, she couldn't move. "I'm doing physical therapy…" It came out as a whisper. He looked at the gathering of scar tissue, eyes narrowing back to her face.

"What kind of weapon did this?" He almost sounded reprimanding. "This wasn't done by a spell."

Feeling ashamed and more than a little embarrassed, she pulled her shirt back over her shoulder. "Well, good eye. I'll make an Auror out of you yet," she said defensively, then pushed her way around him.

"Can you cast any spells at all?"

"Just some basic transfigurations. Look, now is not really the time or place to delve into my personal problems."

A tense silence formed between them before Thomas relented. "This discussion will continue once we're done here."

She eyed him. His commanding tone unnerved her, but he deserved to know the limitations and burdens her handicap would be putting on him. She sighed. "Alright."

Thomas took out his own notepad and began drawing the symbol painted on the floor. Hermione slowly walked towards the body of the husband. The magical preservations spells were truly wonderful. The blood on the ground hadn't even turned a complete shade of dried brown yet. She stepped carefully over the markings and around the chair to face him. Clenching her fists together at the sight, she took a breath. "The killer or killers have become increasingly malicious with each murder, as I told you before. The first few showed no signs of torture, but after that there seemed to be a level of comfort established. We began to find couples missing finger nails and some cut with what we presumed to be a knife. The last two murders were missing their eyes. But this is a new level." Thomas walked over and stood beside her. "He's been disemboweled."

Mr. Wentworth sat with his head thrown backwards and his mouth hanging open as if silently screaming to the heavens for mercy. A long, vertical cut ran down from his chest to his groin opening his stomach for its contents to spill down his lap and onto the floor.

"Why go this far?" Hermione thought outloud.

"Curiosity," Thomas said. "He's beginning to enjoy it. Whatever his purpose had initially been, he's found he enjoys inflicting pain. He's becoming creative."

Hermione leaned down to examine the rest of his body. Aside from where his skin cut along his bindings, there didn't seem to be any other injuries. "I'll have his body examined closer at St. Mungo's. Do you recognize the symbol?"

Thomas handed her his notepad. "Not exactly, but something about it is familiar."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, struggling to recall where she'd seen something similar to it. "I'll go through personal library tonight and see if I can't track it down. Let's move on to the wife."  
"Where is she?"

Hermione turned her head toward the stairs at the end of the room. "In the nursery." As they made their way up the steps, Hermione noted the couple's pictures along the walls. They seemed like a happy, adventurous couple. In one picture, they swam through coral reefs with mermaids. Another picture showed them hand-in-hand standing before the great pyramids. The wind was throwing Mrs. Wentworth's long curly hair into her face and they were both laughing. "The wife has always either been killed or placed in the nursery by the time we find them. This is intended to mirror the murder of the Potters. Remember, the wounds are usually the same if not worse than that of the husbands, to prepare yourself."

They walked through the nursery doors and Hermione noted the bloody dark mark painted on the wall above the crib. "This has always been the signature mark of the killer," she said, looking around the room for the wife's body. "The blood of the wife has always been used to sketch it. It's a direct Voldemort reference. The killer's either claiming the kill in the name of Voldemort or fashioning himself as the next Dark Lord."

"The body isn't here."

Hermione faltered. "I… huh," She checked the closet and the crib. "I don't even see signs of a struggle."

"We should check other rooms." Thomas turned and walked back out into the hallway.

"Yes, but…" Hermione frowned. Why change the pattern now? The baby had been found and was currently having the scar on his forehead mended before being sent to relatives. The father was found in the living room. Gruesome as his death was, it still fit the pattern. What about the wife made him change it?"

"Ms. Granger," Thomas called. She spun and darted from the nursery. Down the hall was another room. Thomas stood just inside of the door frame. She stopped by him and gasped. Laying on the bed was the body of Mrs. Wentworth. She was naked and her throat was cut, soaking the mattress in red. Her messy curls were splayed wildly across the pillows and her pale limbs showed dark bruises from where she had been held down.

"No," Hermione whispered. "She was raped? Maybe this is a different killer?"

"I don't think so."

"But why would he do this now? None of the past murders showed any sign of sexual motivation," she argued. "They were all aimed at Harry!"

"What if this was aimed at someone close to Harry?" She felt a small tug on her hair and turned to watch as Thomas wound a lock of her hair around his finger. "She looks like you, Hermione."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After another hour of searching through the house for any possible clue left behind by the murderer, Hermione and Tom returned to their office to write up their report. For the most part, Hermione dictated while he wrote everything out. They both picked through older murders trying to see something new. Finally, she huffed in annoyance and slammed the case file shut.

"I'm nowhere closer to catching them than I was after the first bloody murder."

Tom stopped writing and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "What makes you so sure there's more than one culprit? The profile you built suggests someone who would want to carry out these acts alone."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I _wish_ I was 'so sure', but it's honestly just a gut feeling." She opened the case file again and pulled out a thin blue folder tucked in the back. "These are the Daily Prophets from the mornings following each murder. If you look past the article about the murder itself and focus on the more petty crimes, you'll notice an abnormally large amount of incidents all happening within an hour of the murder." She pointed to articles. "Thefts, break-ins and muggings were reported all across wizarding London, but not only did we never catch anyone, we could never get a single description outside of "It was dark and he was wearing a cloak."

"Is there any correlation between the victims of the petty crimes?" Tom asked, watching her amusedly and she bit into the back of her pencil.

"None whatsoever. It's like they were just trying to spread us all thin." She flipped to a different date and pointed to another article.

"Every,"

_ flip_

"single,"

_ flip_

"time."

Thomas reached for the Daily Prophet from two mornings prior. "Have you checked to see if your theory matches with the latest murder? That hardly sounds like a coincidence."

She shook her head. "Not yet." She continued gnawing on her pencil while listening to him turn the pages. He stopped to read something and she tensed. "Anything?"

"Perhaps," he said, still reading. "Who are the Pauci Electi?"

Her head shot up. "What?"

"Pauci Electi. I believe it translates to-"

"Chosen Few," Hermione finished. "Never heard of them. What did they do?"

"They seem to be acting under the impression that Voldemort is still alive. They were protesting on the night of the murder demanding to know the whereabouts of the children left behind by the murderer. They think they are chosen-one potentials and need to be raised in the light to defeat him."

Hermione jumped out of her seat and rounded the desk to Thomas, reading over his shoulder. "This has got to be them. Does it say who any of them are?"

Thomas closed the Prophet and handed it to her. "No, but they usually meet up at old crime scenes."

She rubbed her chin in thought. "They're a group, they're organized, and they're involved in the case. But I'm not sure if they're involved in the murders."

"If they were, what exactly would be their motive to kill?"

"I don't know, maybe they're trying to create another chosen one; reenacting the exact events of the Potter murders to try and make it happen again."

"But Voldemort didn't carve a lightning bolt into Harry's head. He tried to kill him and it backfired onto himself, almost killing him on the spot. And if they're so bent on getting ahold of the babies to raise them in the light, why wouldn't they just take them after killing the parents?"

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Well, that's another dead end." She knew there was no point grasping at straws. The profile she'd painstakingly built detailed a man with idol worship centered around Voldemort and his teachings. Not a group of Harry fanatics. "Also, a group of wizards devoted to the light wouldn't be trying out dark blood magic."

A soft tap sounded at their office door. They both turned to see Clarence Clearwater shuffle inside pushing his cart in front of him. He smiled bashfully. "Afternoon, Hermione. Two letters came in for you while you were out. I thought you would want to see them before you left for the day."

"Thank you, Clarence. I hadn't realized how late it already was." He kept his eyes to the ground and with stiff shoulders placed the letters in her outreached hand. Hermione wondered absently why he never seemed able to look her in the eye.

He stood fidgeting with his thumb nails. "You usually forget and stay later than anyone else. I-I don't mind letting you know when it's getting late if you'd like-"

Hermione waved her hand. "Oh, I couldn't put you out like that. There's no need for you to worry yourself over my clumsy timekeeping. I'm sure Thomas here will let me know when I've kept him long enough anyway."

Clarence glanced at Tom, his smile faltering. Tom smirked. "I'll do my best to get her home before curfew."

The scrawny man laughed nervously and stared down at the ground. "Alright, well- see you tomorrow then, Hermione."

"Bye," Hermione called distractedly as she began unrolling one of the letters.

Tom waited for Clarence to leave, then eyed the girlish penmanship scrawled across the parchment in her hand. She had unceremoniously tossed a second letter to the side of her desk. "Whose letter could possibly be distracting you from the bumbling charms of poor Clarence?"

She lowered the parchment to frown at him. "Excuse me?"

"That man is head-over-heals for you. Surely you're aware of this."

"That's preposterous," she dismissed him and continued reading, a small grin pulling at the side of her lips. The letter was from her friend Luna. The young woman had taken her father's position as writer and editor for The Quibbler and was always bouncing from one country to another in search of rare or, in Hermione's opinion, fictional magical creatures. She occasionally dipped her toe in political issues, but only when she felt other publications weren't fulfilling their duty to report the unbiased truth. She was about to take a trip to Germany and wanted to meet before she left. Hermione hoped it wasn't to talk about the 'Ron situation.' She glanced back to Tom. "I'm meeting with an old friend after work," she said, then hesitantly bit her lip. "Would you mind writing my response?"

"Of course," he said reaching for his quill and a clean parchment. "What should it say?"

"Just say that I'll meet her at Bacchus' Brew around seven."

He wrote her short reply, then flipped it over to write along the back. "And who is it being made out to?"

"Luna Lovegood."

The quill scratched the name across the page, then paused. "The journalist?"

Hermione chuckled. "I'm sure she'd love to know that you think so. And yes. She writes for the only tabloid I enjoy reading anymore."

He looked at her in interest. "I read it as well. There is a surprising amount of credibility to her claims. And her topics are certainly… refreshing." He waved his wand over her letter once. It floated off the desk then began folding itself in midair. Once it took the form of a paper airplane, it zipped out the small hole above their office door. It would find its way to Penelope Clearwater who would send it off with a Ministry owl. Tom set his quill back on its stand and stood. "I suppose that doesn't give us much time, then."

She watched him confusedly as he walked around their desks towards her. "Much time for what?" She gasped when he bent down and placed his hands on her arm rests. She pushed back against her seat, putting distance between their faces.

"You still owe me an explanation," he said silkily, eyes flicking to her shoulder before returning to hold her gaze.

She looked away from his dark eyes, the heavy sensation of being cornered spilling over her. "Look, it's personal. Is it not enough to just know that I'm dealing with a _temporary_ handicap?"

"Does it look like that's enough for me?"

She turned back to him. His eyes narrowed into hers.

Her thoughts began to jumble together and a headache exploded between her ears.

_ Her shoulder hurt so bad and there was blood everywhere and her vision was getting dark…_

_ Dark hair, dark eyes….he smelled like parchment and sandalwood…_

_ It smelled like sanitizer all around her as the medi-witch said she'd never have full motion of her wand arm…_

_ Ginny grabbed her arm and hollered to the whole room that she going to have a baby. She laughed so hard tears began to spring from her eyes…_

_ Tears stained her pillow. They had another fight and Ron wouldn't come home…_

_ Her first kiss with Ron. It had been wet and clumsy…_

_ Thomas' lips were curling into a smirk. Would his kiss be clumsy too?_

_ The echoing of a gunshot and the smell of alcohol…_

_ She's graduating her final year of Hogwarts…_

_ Explosions and falling debris…_

_ Screams and falling bodies…_

_ The snake-eyed gaze of a mad man…_

"N-no!" she shrieked and without realizing what her body was doing, she punched Tom across the face. He took a step away from her and touched his cheek. A small cut formed under his eye, yet he smiled triumphantly.

She clenched her eyes shut. "I'm- I didn't mean to, but _Legilimency? Really?_ You _read my mind?"_

"You wouldn't have told me the truth if I hadn't."

"You don't get to decide that! And, even so, you have no right to just invade my memories!"

Tom looked down at her like she were missing some huge point. "Hermione-"

"That's _Miss Granger_."

He scoffed. "You, a high level ministry Auror, were attacked and yet you never reported it. That goes against a number of regulation. So, I assumed you must be covering for someone. Someone important. Someone who, until very recently, was a big part of your life."

"Stop…" she muttered.

He cocked his head to the side. "Your loyalty to him is admirable. And so tediously Gryffindor. I will respect your wish to protect him, but you will not keep secrets from me." He touched her chin so she would meet his gaze once more. "We are not only partners, Hermione, but I'm keeping your secrets. I shouldn't _have_ to use Legilimency."

"You," she rose from her seat, "will _never_ do that to me again."

He took a step towards her and she almost fell back into her chair. He smiled, then reached out to cup her cheek. "You should be more thankful. Now that I know what caused your injury, I know the perfect place to find a way to fix it."

She froze in shock. She had drained her book collection dry, had the best medi witches and wizards tell her there was nothing to be done and even had Minerva check the Hogwarts library's restricted section for something that might help. What could he possibly have access to that she hadn't already-" Her eyes widened and she looked up at him.

He smiled widely. "There, I knew you'd figure it out." He brushed her cheek bone with the pad of his thumb.

"The Malfoy Library," she whispered.

"One of the best known collections of rare and, quite possibly, illegal literature. Do try to contain your excitement."

She hadn't realized her mouth was hanging open. He stepped away and walked to the coat rack by the door. "I will speak with my benefactor on your behalf," he said conversationally while slipping into his coat.

Hermione shook her head trying not to get her hopes up. "Lucius Malfoy will never volunteer his private collection for a mud- for me," she chided herself for almost saying _that word_. She scratched at the scars along her arm where the word _mudblood_ was forever etched into her skin. The sight of it was a constant reminder of her inferior birth and her torment every morning. Luckily, she was still able to manage a topical potion to glamor it away.

"I think you'll find Lucius has taken quite a shine to me. I'm sure he'd be willing to look past matters from his darker days in light of your current predicament. Leave him to me." He pulled his notepad from inside his robes and flipped it open. Turning it towards her, he displayed the strange symbol that had been painted on the floor around the husband's body. "We might also find a clue as to what exactly this means."

Hermione tried to balance her anxiety of returning to the scene of her torture against the mountain of knowledge she would have at her fingertips. It would be worth it if she found something useful. She nodded her head.

He reached for the door knob, then turned as if in afterthought. "By the way, I wouldn't be clumsy."

She frowned at him, baffled. "What?"

"You had been wondering how I would compare to your last kiss." He pointed to his head and Hermione's face flared up. Static sparked through her hair and Tom grinned in amusement before opening the door and taking his leave.

"Loathsome, egotistical, invasive, manipulative…" she muttered through clenched teeth. _Intelligent, suave, confident, handsome…_ she smacked the side of her head. It wouldn't do to think of him in such a way. Not only were they coworkers, but she couldn't shake the feeling in her gut that he couldn't be trusted.

She began returning documents to their case file when she noticed the second letter she had tossed aside. It was from Ron. His penmanship was unmistakable. Knowing she wasn't in the right frame of mind to entertain his message, she left it alone and departed to meet with Luna.

* * *

Tom had considered the idea of tailing the girl to her flat, but he didn't have the time to wait around for her to finish meeting with her friend. Besides, if he had deduced anything at all from her, it was that she had a practical mind. She would be living close to work, despite the floo network. Walking distance, most likely. Her injury could not have come about at a more fortunate time. Her warding capabilities being hindered would leave her at the mercy of muggle locking mechanisms. Unless, of course, he offered his help in setting the wards up, which would still allow him to enter unhindered.

"Here we are, sir. Vault 749." The long-nosed goblin opened the cart door. "Mind your step, now. And be quick about your business. Security breaches caused the bank to enforce mandatory time restraints on all of our clients." The goblin gave Tom a nasty sneer. "That includes supposed long-lost nephews."

Tom ignored the doubt cast against him. Goblins were quite keen, but had no interest in the politics or plots of wizards. "What sort of security breaches? Am I to understand that the impenetrable Gringotts Bank was broken into?"

"It was a few years ago, but we've yet to find a replacement for our old security system. Someone in the Ministry charged us with magical animal cruelty."

"Ah, so the rumors of there being a dragon down here were correct after all?" Tom pulled the vault key from his robes.

"Used to be correct. Until that Potter boy and his two friends stole it.

Tom paused before putting the key into its lock. "Was Hermione Granger apart of that little fiasco?"

The goblin crossed his calloused arms. "Sure was. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if she's also the reason we can't get another dragon."

Tom smiled, shaking his head, and pushed the key into the vault. "Hermione Granger, how delightful you're turning out to be." The vault doors creaked along their hinges and slowly swung open. Inside was a black leather wingback chair and a small glass side table atop which sat three items. Tom walked inside and took a pouch from the table. The sound of many galleons clinked as he dropped them into his robe's pocket. He eyed the other two items before turning back around to leave.

"All this security," the goblin commented, "for a diary and a ring?"

Tom stepped into the cart. "Yes, I know." He looked down his nose at the goblin. "It really isn't enough without the dragon."

* * *

Hermione spotted her friend in the far corner of the bar lounge eating out of a large glass filled with different colored scoops of ice cream. In all her years of knowing Luna, she never drank liquor outside of the occasional butterbeer. Harry and Ron usually chastised her for it, but Hermione found her to be interesting enough sober and didn't care to find out how she would be with lowered inhibitions. She strode towards the pale blonde-haired creature and smiled at the traditional lederhosen and blouse combo she wore with a beistle hat. Although it was grossly out of place in modern Germany, Luna prided herself on fitting in with traditional attire wherever she traveled.

Luna blue eyes sparkled as Hermione took a seat across from her. "Hermione," she said in her sing-song voice. "I'm so glad you could make it on a work night."

"Well, I couldn't miss you before you leave on another trip around the world."

"Oh, I'll hardly be that far away this time." She glanced at a waiter walked their way. "Would you like something to eat or drink? It's on me since I invited you."

"Sure, thanks. Merlot and cucumber bites are fine."

Luna nodded and placed the order. Then, delicately leaning her chin atop her hands, she asked quietly, "Ron has done something quite unforgivable, hasn't he." It wasn't a question. She knew. Luna always knew. "We don't have to talk about it. I just want to stress the fact once more; Germany is not that far away. You can contact me if you need anything."

Hermione held back the grateful tears that threatened to leak down her cheeks and nodded silently. Feeling like an emotional wreck after Thomas' legilimency, she hurriedly returned the conversational topic back to Luna's trip. "So, what are you on the hunt for this time?"

Luna tapped her nose thoughtfully. "I suppose I could tell you. It would ruin the surprise of waiting for my article, though."

"You know I can't pass up getting the inside scoop. Besides, I'd read your article whether or not I already knew what it was about."

Luna leaned in conspiratorially. "Alright then, if you must know," her voice came out in a whisper, "I'm looking for a kobold." Taking in Hermione's blank look, she continued. "They're the reason most people end up missing one sock out of most of their pairs. They're oddly attracted to dirty laundry, you see. Most take residence in the houses of muggles who can't detect them without magic, but I believe I've tracked them down to where they are indigineous. The Black Forest of Germany. It's home to many wondrous creatures, so who knows what else I might stumble upon!" She scooped up a mint green spoonful of ice cream and popped it in her mouth.

"Luna, that sounds wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed as her glass of wine and side dish were set on her table. "Will you be spending most of your nights in the forest?"

"Yes, and I've packed all necessary provisions; nargle repellent, a map pointing out all known water sources, hiking boots, a compass, and plenty of that delightful trail mix you taught me to make."

"You must write to me." Hermione grinned.

"Of course, each time I make it back into town, I'll send word of any progress. You know, you _could_ come with me, if you were so inclined. I would love the company."

Hermione smiled, but shook her head. "Maybe once we catch this murderer. As it is, I can't leave Harry to his devices right now and I'm the only one standing between him and taking over the case. He and his family are too much of a target."

"Do you think Voldemort is back?" Luna asked?

Hermione couldn't explain why the question coming from her seemed to give her pause to reconsider her usual answer. "He _can't_ be. We destroyed every possible means he had to resurrect. If he's actually back…" she took a long drink from her wine glass and sighed. "We're in a lot of trouble."

The rest of the evening passed amicably. Hermione listed various German foods Luna should try while she was abroad and requested she bottle any useful plants she came across while trekking through the Black Forest. They walked out of Bacchus' Brew and Luna wrapped Hermione in a tight hug before disapparating. Rubbing her hands against the cold chill forming on her arms from the misty night air, Hermione walked into the night and down the main road that led to her flat.

The roads in the area of London she lived off of were made of the same old cobblestone that lined the old buildings that had stood for centuries around her. Normally, during the day, it created a quaint, aged atmosphere that reminded her of how far muggles had come along without the aid of magic.

The late hours of night were a different story. Her footsteps echoed off the stone buildings that loomed over her like towering tomb stones. Farther down the road, she could make out the silhouette of a drunk stumbling into his flat, a few choice slurs making it to her ears before he disappeared behind the door. She quickened her steps. An icy gust of wind blew into her from behind, lifting her hair and sending goose flesh down her neck. She hurriedly brushed her tangled locks from her face, then stopped dead in her tracks after hearing the small sigh of a cloak rippling behind her. She jumped forward and spun around, wand clutched tightly in her useless hand. Fear gripped her chest.

A tall, cloaked figure stood before her with his head angled low and a worn hood shadowing his face. The misty air swirled between them.

She pointed her wand threateningly. "Are you following me?" she demanded.

His shoulders shook slightly in what she assumed was a silent laugh. Then, his voice came out in a breathy whisper. "I'm always following you," his head lifted slightly and the street lamps reflected off a metallic mask she hadn't seen in years. It was unmistakably the mask of a Death Eater. "Hermione Granger," he hissed, then lunged towards her. She dodged to the side, almost running into a trash bin.

"_Impedimenta!_" she cried. The jinx shot from her wand tip. It found its mark in the center of the Death Eater's chest. For a second, she felt relief at having performed a spell successfully. He paused, looking down at his chest. Slowly, he looked back towards her and continued his advance. It wasn't strong enough. She hadn't completed the wand movement with enough accuracy. "Shit." She spun around and began to run. A spell flew past her head and blew a hole into a closed newspaper stand ahead of her. Papers and split wood fell everywhere. She quickly changed direction and charged left down an alleyway just in time to miss another spell. She had to try and make it back to the Ministry of Magic. Someone would see her. Someone would help. The alley was extremely narrow, but she could make out street lamps from the other end. The masked man's boots beating against the ground were too close. She leaped over piles of bagged garbage and pounded her heals against the stone ground, keeping her focus on her cluttered path. Suddenly, her head was jerked backwards by her hair. Another hand gripped her tightly around the waste.

"Having trouble with your wand?" he asked in a hushed but mocking tone. Rage boiled in her stomach. Sparks coursed through her hair from her scalp down to where his hand tangled itself in her curls. She heard a static pop and he cursed, his hand jerking away. She reached behind her and grabbed his thigh, shoving her thumb hard into his sciatic nerve.

"You _bitch,_" he growled and he released her waste only to punch her hard against her temple. It dazed her, but the punch itself was sloppy. She was out of his grasp in time to see him raise his wand.

"No!" She grabbed the lid of a trash bin at the last second to shield herself form his _Locomotor Mortis _curse. It shattered the tin lid and blasted a piece of it straight into Hermione's face. It ricocheted off her forehead. She stared dazedly at him for a moment, not understanding what had happened until red flooded her vision. She touched her forehead and looked at the crimson covering her hand. She lost her footing while blinking blood from her eyes and fell backwards, landing on her side. She scrambled back up only to be pushed against the side of a building, a long blade carefully placed against her neck, and his other arm leaned hard against her chest. She stared into the slits of the mask trying hard and failing to make out any identifiable features he might have. He leaned forward and breathed deeply into her hair.

"Was it fate that brought you to me tonight, of all nights?" he whispered, "Or are you just a distraction from my mission?"

"_You_ jumped _me_, arsehole, remember?" Hermione tried to shove him away, but he only pressed the knife to her throat harder. She fought to calm her thoughts. "What exactly is so special about tonight?" she asked, stalling for time.

The mask looked at her again and seemed to consider. "You'll know soon enough," was the whispered response. "You have been found worthy." Slowly, the knife's edge began to descend her neck. Her reaction was instinctive. She raised her knee sharply into his groin and pushed against him with all her strength. He grunted and stumbled backwards. She ran two steps before he grasped her by the shirt. She lurched herself forward and felt the buttons of her blouse snap, but she was free again.

"Hey!" a man's voice shouted from up the alley. "_Incarcerous!" _The spell shot past Hermione and she glanced backwards towards the masked man in time to see him disapparate before the Incarcerous bindings could take effect.

She slowed to a stop, panting heavily, and collapsed to her knees. Footsteps from her savior rushed to her side. "I heard a shout! Miss, are you alr- Hermione?"

Her head shot up. "_Thomas?_"

"Merlin, your face!" He bent down and touched her elbows lightly. "Can you stand?"

She nodded dumbly. "It'll probably hurt worse tomorrow. I live just down that road…" she looked down the long expanse of wet cobblestones. Suddenly, she was terrified of every dark shadow that waited between where she sat and her flat.

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine." Her breaths were heavy, and yet she couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs. "I just need some sleep."

"Who was that man? What happened?"

"I was…" she noticed her shirt's state of disarray and hastily gripped it closed where the buttons had snapped off. "I was just _walking_…"

He considered her small, defeated appearance. "I'm taking you home. I live nearby, so it's no trouble. Show me where you live and I'll get you there. But first," he took hold of her chin and pointed his wand to her forehead. "Keep still. _Episkey!_" Warmth spread across her face, and she felt the tingling of her cut skin healing. She gently touched her head. His healing skills were more adept than she'd thought they'd be.

"Thank you," she whispered. "You said you live here too?"

He shrugged. "Living within walking distance from work seemed… _practical_." The way he said it almost sounded like something about the fact amused him. "I made a stop by my benefactor's manor to inquire about our use of his library, then I ran a few personal errands and was walking back home." She wearily accepted his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. Gripping her blouse shut, they began walking towards her home. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was on my way home from seeing my friend." Her voice was flat.

"Miss Lovegood?"

A small ghost of a smile pulled at the side of her lips. "Yes, Luna. She's taking a trip to Germany and wanted to say goodbye. The restaurant we met at isn't far, it's just a short way off behind us. The street was empty and then he was just… there. Thomas," she shivered, "he was dressed like a Death Eater."

"Haven't they all been caught?"

"Most of them. The ones that haven't aren't stupid enough to come out of hiding dressed like that." A rustling off to her side made her jump sideways into him. A small shadow leaped out from behind some garbage and zipped over a gated fence. He placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

"It was just a cat."

Her nerves were shot. "I-I had a cat once. He was my familiar. Ron used to say he was the ugliest cat he'd ever laid eyes on, but I thought he was majestic."

Tom glanced sideways at her as they continued walking. "I think you might be in shock."

They walked the rest of the way to her flat in silence. Once they'd made their way up the cement steps to her door, she began shuffling awkwardly in her pockets for her key. Tom chuckled dryly and retrieved his wand. "_Alohamora,_" he stated simply, and the door lock clicked in answer.

She sighed. "Thank you. Again." She opened the door.

"You do realize how dangerously easy that was for me. A _muggle_ could even break in here."

"I can't exactly cast wards at the moment," she said a touch too harshly. "Nor can I ask anyone to do it for me without all the wrong people finding out I-"

"I'm not doing anything else at the moment."

She paused, eyeing him suspiciously. Casting wards on a home was not something one would typically ask from a stranger. But he was an Auror. And he'd saved her life. He stepped through her door frame. "You're my partner now. It's in my benefit that you stay safe outside of work hours."

She stared at him and then lowered her head. "You're right. If it's not too much trouble, I would really appreciate it. It seems your arrival at the Ministry couldn't have come at a better time."

He cocked his head to the side studying her. He had succeeded in infiltrating the ministry and gaining access to her home. It had been almost too easy. In his experience, nothing came easily. Nothing came without persuasion. Or aggression. Still, he allowed himself the triumph of her thankful smile. In such bloodied disarray, he couldn't help but believe her to be a sight to behold.

She looked away from his gaze and noticed the state of her living room. "Please, ignore the mess. I've barely had a chance to unpack anything besides my books. I'll just be a minute."

He waved her away and she retreated to the back of her flat. He took the opportunity to look around. Back in his time, it was unthinkable for a witch of her age to be living alone. And to have a job as an Auror?

"Kids these days," he muttered. Yet, even with her magical abilities on a temporary hiatus, she had commendable combat skills from what little he'd seen in her attempt to flee the masked man. He ran his fingers over the tomes on her shelves. If she had actually read and understood half of what she owned, her mental fortitude was greater than he'd taken into account. All seven volumes of _Chadwick Boot's Charms_ sat neatly next to the entire works of Miranda Goshawk. He was mildly surprised to find _Moste Potente Potions_ by Libatius Borage, but what truly gave him pause was the faded-black leather bound volume that offered no author's name. _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. He knew of only one copy in existence. His finger caressed the spine fondly.

"Would you like some tea?" Hermione emerged from the loo, face cleaned of blood and wearing a loose-fitting yellow blouse to replace the tattered one. "It's the least I can do."

"Thank you. Whatever flavor you prefer will be fine," he said. As she began to place a pot on her stove, he couldn't help but frown. She was boiling the water. By flame.

"Yes, Thomas, just like a cave man," she stated, correctly reading his facial features. "You'll have to take my word on it, though. It truly tastes better this way."

He shook his head. Once he'd discovered he was a wizard, he'd been revolted by the mediocracy and tediousness of muggle living. He turned away from the insulting scene and began casting anti-unlocking charms on the door and an anti-intruder jinx around the perimeter of her living room. By the time he finished a final security spell, he could smell the tea's aroma coming from the kitchen. She brought a tea cup to him. "I put a bit of honey in it. It's been cultivated from bees that thrive in dittany fields."

Unable to stop old habits, he wordlessly cast a detection spell over the cup. There were no poisons in the mundane concoction. He took a small sip. The taste of chamomile coupled with the scent of lavender was just the right strength. The honey took away any bite the tea might have had and the subtle dittany made the drink entirely a new sensation.

"It's good," he stated.

"I'm glad you like it." She looked around the room. "Have you finished?"

"With the basic protection spells and a few jinxes. It's enough to keep out even a competent wizard. You should be safe."

She nodded and offered him a seat. Her dining table was stacked with boxes that she pushed out of the way. Slowly, she sat in one of the chairs and rubbed her temple.

"Did you get a good look at your attacker?" he asked.

"No."

Tom frowned. "Nothing about him stuck out? We could see about ordering a pensieve and having someone take a look at your memory if that might help."

She shook her head. "He was masked and hooded. All I could make out was that he was about six feet tall."

"Could you see his skin?"

She thought back. He hadn't been wearing gloves. "All I saw were his hands. He was Caucasian. I didn't see any tattoos, scars or rings."

"That's good. Did he speak to you? Do you remember hearing an accent?"

She sipped her tea and tried not to focus on the migraine she felt coming on. "He had no accent. He was definitely from here. He wanted to know why he'd run into me 'tonight of all nights,' and that I'd been found worthy. He said he'd been following me."

"Does anything else stick out to you? Anything out of the ordinary?"

She frowned at the comment. The entire incident was 'out of the ordinary', but she knew what he was trying to do. These questions were standard procedure and she could appreciate him wanting to walk her through them. She thought back and something did stick out. "He only whispered. I thought he was just trying to keep anyone living nearby from overhearing anything, but I was yelling at the top of my lungs and he only whispered the entire time."

Tom looked at her knowingly.

"I must know him." Her head spun. The man had been afraid she might recognize his voice. He could be a fellow classmate from Hogwarts, a coworker, or even a _friend_!

Tom drank the last bit of tea. "We can report this in the morning once you've rested."

She brought her tea cup down onto the table hard. A small amount of the liquid spilled. "Absolutely not," she stated authoritatively. He raised an eyebrow at her tone. "If Harry hears even a whisper of what happened tonight, he'll have me off the case. He'll have me off all cases. It would be two birds-one stone for him. I'd be safe, and he'd get my case. He has Kingsley wrapped around his finger! It would take one complaint from Harry," she raised her finger, "and I'd be reassigned to desk duty."

Tom watched her steadily. "So, am I to presume we keep most of what we discover between us?"

"Yes." She shuffled in her chair uneasily. "I'm sorry to put you in this position, but I need your word."

Tom's lips pealed back into a smiled. "I can give you something better. I know of a spell. A promise spell."

Hermione started. "The Unbreakable Vow?"

Tom chuckled and waved his hand. "No, nowhere near as severe. This spell won't require to keep the promise by threat of death. And we won't need a witness. This just makes it… difficult to break the promise. It requires an even exchange. Whatever I promise you, you must promise me in return." He pulled two galleons from his pocket and placed them on the table. Silently, he transfigured them into two gold rings. He slid his fingers through them and held them up in front of her. "I cast the spell on the rings. Once we each put them on, we give each other our promise."

Hermione hesitated. "Can the spell be broken?"

"Of course," Tom stated. "It's broken when we both remove our rings together."

She eyed him. "It's that easy?"

He handed her a ring. "It's that easy."

She held the tiny bit of gold in her palm. "This really means a lot, Thomas. Are you sure you're alright with this?"

"If it makes you feel like you can be open with me, then yes."

She nodded and held the ring out. "Right then. Cast the spell."

Tom performed an intricate flourish with his wand then said, "_Aequalis Foedus_." The rings began to hum in their palms. "Now put it on and repeat what I say." She hurriedly obliged. "I promise not to reveal any secrets you might have that would hinder your goals." His ring began to glow.

Hermione nodded, approving his statement. "I promise not to reveal any secrets you might have that would hinder your goals." Her ring glowed in response.

Tom waved his wand once more. "_Finis!_" Hermione let out a huge sigh of relief. "Feel better?"

She blushed slightly. "It's nothing against you, Thomas, I just needed the extra security for now. I know we're partners, but I still barely know you."

"I understand." He stood from the table. "It's late now, though, and I've kept you from much-needed rest, I'm sure. Thank you for the tea." He turned to leave through the door.

"Thomas, please, you can take my floo. There's no need to be back on the streets at this hour." She hurried over to her chimney and removed a pouch from the mantle. "Here," she opened the pouch of floo powder to him. "I'll open my floo to you as well, but don't think you can just come over uninvited. This is emergencies only."

He smiled. "As it should be." He reached into the pouch, grabbing the dust, and stepped into the fireplace.

She gave him a small smile, twisting the new ring that adorned her finger. "And good luck with your new flat. I'm sure you'll have a better time than I will unpacking."

"It's already done," he said, then thought back to the flats they'd passed during their walk together. Throwing the powder on the ground, he stated clearly "104 Whitehall, London, flat 2B."

It had taken little doing on Lucius' part to contact his connections within the Floo Division in the Ministry. Lucius' name might have been raked through the mud, but his demands were still immediately attended to. He requested via owl that the muggle residence listed have access to the floo network.

Said muggles were in the middle of dinner as Tom walked through their sitting room. The parents were watching the tele, but their young boy noticed him. He dropped his fork onto his plate. They'd barely begun eating. That was for the best. Tom had developed quite an appetite.

He pointed his wand at the family. "_Imperio._"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Rain began to beat heavily against the roof of a small house sitting on a hill just east of the Burrow. Ronald Weasley's red hair stood out in all directions as he stared out the window at the sky. Every bird that flew by made his heart beat fast in hopes it was an owl carrying a message from his fiancé.

It hadn't even been a full day since he'd sent her his half-hearted letter of apology, but she had always been so punctual about returning messages. It's one of the things he appreciated about her, despite him not usually returning the favor. He turned and looked around his cramped living room. He'd made another three orders for muggle parts after she'd left but hadn't had the motivation to unpack any of it. He'd much preferred the bottles of fire whiskey. During his drunken stupors, he'd thrown all of Hermione's belongings into boxes and even torn a few of her shirts to shreds, but when he'd awoken each morning to the carnage, he'd carefully placed all her things back into the closet or drawers where they'd been before. He'd gotten an early start this morning and was already halfway through another bottle.

He hadn't truly believed she'd been serious about leaving when she returned from St. Mungos. Even seeing her arm in a sling and after taking a pepper up potion, he'd thought she was all bravado and would return with her tail between her legs the next morning. She'd never been on her own before. It had always been just her, him and Harry since that first day on the train to Hogwarts. She couldn't possibly think she could make it out there on her own. After a few days had passed, though, he decided to draft an apology. He didn't mind being the bigger man this time. Perhaps he even deserved a little bit of the silent treatment, but not responding to his letter was taking things too far.

He clenched his jaw, feeling the all-too-familiar rage heating up his ears. He would give her until work was over and he'd seek her out. She was in need of a reminder of who the man in the relationship was. He wouldn't have her prancing around like some single tart in the streets. Talking to other _men_. That very thought quickened his breathing and he turned back around to continue looking out the window. If she wouldn't come back to him, he would go to her at the Ministry. And if she was already gone, he knew just who he needed to talk to in order to find out where she was living.

_ Tap_

_ Tap_

_ Tap_

Hermione bolted upright blowing globs of hair out of her mouth. Instantly, her temples began to throb and her ribs screamed in agony. She clutched her bruised side and fell back onto her pillow.

_ Tap_

_ Tap_

_ Tap_

She growled in frustration and, carefully this time, sat up and looked to her window. A brown owl stood at her sill, feathers ruffled as it shook off the light rain that was falling in the early morning hours. She reached across her bed and pried the window open. The owl swooped inside and sprayed her face with rain water as it zipped over her head.

"Bloody avian!" she barked and eyed it menacingly until it fluttered to a stop on her head board. It cocked its head to the side, not understanding the point of her ire and held its leg out expectantly. Tied above the talons was a small, rolled up scroll. She pulled it loose and unrolled the parchment. Her eyes scanned the note quickly.

_Hermione,_

_Your presence is required immediately. There has been another murder._

_-Kingsley_

Her fist clenched around the note and it crumpled in her tightened grip. Rage filled her. Had her attacker from yesterday night been involved? Had he been running around town as well as other like him causing distractions for the murder to go on without notice? He had been so close! He'd been _right there _in front of her!

A painful heat emanated from the parchment and she threw it out of her hand. A ball of flame and ashes fell onto her bed sheets and she shrieked, throwing her pillow over the small inferno to drown it. Huffing, she lifted the pillow back up and sighed at her ruined sheets.

_I've been cut off from my magic for too long. It's starting to leak out._ "This isn't good," she muttered. She grabbed her sheets together in a ball and pulled them off the bed. Looking to the owl again, she motioned towards the window. "Get on with you, then," she snapped. "You've plenty of food where you came from."

The owl hooted its discontent at not being offered a treat, but flew back out the window. To add to her morning dilemma, her doorbell rang. She rushed hurriedly out of her bedroom, her sheets in tow, and threw open the front door. Thomas stood, one eye brow raised high.

"I assume you got a letter as well?" he asked, stepping inside. "Lucius notified me that he received a letter on my behalf." He eyed her bundle. "You don't seem quite ready to go yet."

She threw the sheets to the side. "I had an accident."

"Most of us stopped having those in our toddler years."

"Not _that_ kind of accident!" she snapped, then crossed her arms. "I set my sheets on fire."

He actually had the nerve to smile. "How delightful." His dark eyes sparkled.

"This isn't funny, Thomas, I can't use my magic and now it's using me instead!"

He bent down to examine the discarded sheets. Judging from the size of the scorch marks, she had materialized a fairly sizeable flame. "This is rather…" he turned his head back towards her and all at once took a sudden notice of her appearance. "Remarkable." It seemed in her haste to answer the door, she'd forgotten her state of dress. She wore a red loose fitting spaghetti strap and soft black shorts held up with a drawstring. Despite her lack of clothes, she didn't seem at all abashed. _Modern witches_, he thought. Much had certainly changed over the years.

She turned on her heal and walked back to her room, calling over her shoulder as she did. "What brings you here anyway, Thomas? I would have seen you at the office shortly."

He let the sheets fall back to the floor as he watched her disappear behind her bedroom door. "I had a feeling that you would try to walk to work again."

"I _like_ walking to work. Just because we have the advantages of instant teleportation via the floo doesn't mean I have to take short cuts every opportunity I get," came her reply.

"That's commendable of you, but need I remind you of what happened last time you decided to take a stroll on the streets of London."

"I'd prefer not to be reminded, if that's alright with you." Moments later, she opened the door and was fully dressed in her Auror robes. "But if you insist. I suppose the urgency of this morning dictates we should get there as soon as possible." She took a handful of floo powder and motioned for him to go first. "After you."

He palmed his own handful of the powder and eyed her. "You _will_ be right behind me, correct?"

She looked abashed. "Would I lie to you?" His gaze darkened and she threw her hands in the air. "Alright, I promise. Let's just go!"

He stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a green puff of smoke. She pursed her lips and looked at her front door, contemplating the rebellious idea of walking to work just in spite of his commanding her about. She sighed and stepped into the fireplace. "Didn't want to walk in the rain anyway."

The moment they walked through the doors of the auror's department, they were met with an uproar. People crowded around Penelope Clearwater's desk yelling, and owls flew from every direction dropping letters onto her head.

"Please," she waved her hands at everyone. "Please, I can't hear with everyone shouting at once!"

Hermione seethed. "Honestly! Absolutely ridiculous." She pushed her way through the bodies to Penelope's desk and turned to face the masses. "Back! All of you, step back and stop talking!" she yelled. Angry red faces looked down at her, but silence fell. "You!" she pointed at the man nearest her. "You can stay. Everyone else, you are to exit that door and form a line in the hallway. When this man has finished, the next person in line may enter. I'm sure you all have a very good reason to come here in person, but I expect _order_ so everyone has an equal opportunity to report their grievances. Now, _out_!"

The group grumbled, but slowly leaked back out into the hallway. A letter fell in front of Hermione from another owl and she picked it up. It was addressed to the Auror's department as well. She turned to Penelope. "Where's Clarence? He should be helping you with these letters, at least." Penelope's eyes were puffy and she looked like she'd been holding back tears. Hermione softened her voice. "What's happened?"

The blonde girl sniffed. "Clarence called in sick. We've been getting reports all morning of robbery and vandalism happening all over town. It's like every would-be trouble maker decided to cause problems at the same time! And I'm left sorting everything out on my own!"

Tom put his hand on Hermione's shoulder. "We should talk with the Minister."

Penelope's eyes flicked over to him. "Yes, that's right. There was another…you know." She eyed the man waiting by her desk and lowered her voice to be more discreet. "Another one. He wanted to see you first thing."

Tom and Hermione immediately headed around the corridor leading to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. Tom's voice softly spoke from beside her. "Seems like your theory of there being a group involved with the murders is holding up."

Hermione nodded. "All the more reason for me to get my magic under control. If I can't use my wand and we're up against more than one assailant, I don't know how much use I'll be in a combat situation."

Tom regarded her thoughtfully. "There are ways to use magic without a wand… for some."

Hermione glanced at him and hissed. "Wandless magic? I'm afraid you're overestimating what you've read in the Prophet about me."

"Your magic is strong, Ms. Granger. Perhaps stronger than you give yourself credit for. Most witches and wizards wouldn't have the same problems you faced this morning until months or even years without a wand. Unused magic can be volatile without a wand as an outlet, but when properly focused…"

Hermione interrupted him. "There isn't a witch or wizard alive who could teach me that. None readily available, at least. And the only one I would have considered asking is six feet underground."

Tom motioned his head towards Shackelbolt's door in front of them and looked at Hermione meaningfully. It swung open by itself. Hermione stared at him in shock. He bent down to her ear and whispered, "We'll talk about this later."

To say the Minister was angry was an understatement. He was furious. He was normally such a soft spoken and kindly man that seeing him so ruffled was a shock in itself.

"I have been here fighting off reporters since three in the morning. It's by the grace of sheer dumb luck that none of them know yet about the other murder, but the other crimes that occurred last night amount so far in the thirties." He snapped his hand over to a pile of reports on his desk. "Larceny, vandalism, arson, and assaults _including_ the dischargings of the Unforgivable Cruciatus curse on pedestrians in the street!" He leaned back in his leather chair and rubbed away sweat beading on his forehead. "I've re-read through your reports and I agree with your presumption of this being a group effort, Ms. Granger. I'll give you access to whatever resources you deem necessary, just stop them before they kill again. Otherwise, I'll have to pass the case onto someone else who can."

Hermione knew his anger wasn't necessarily directed at the two of them, but she couldn't help but feel like she was failing the department as an Auror. Failing Harry and Ginny as a friend. Failing Thomas as a partner.

"Who were the victims?" Tom asked. Hermione couldn't muster the courage to raise her head after Shackelbolt's lecture and threats of handing the job to Auror's with more experience under their belt.

Kingsley cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his robes. "Ziden and Alete Velch. I've sent for a close relative to let you into the premises. It's still heavily warded." He handed Tom a note with the address. "You'll have to fly there."

Tom didn't miss Hermione's shoulders tensing. "Thank you, sir," he said, taking the parchment and handing it to Hermione who looked over the address. "We'll be on our way immediately."

"See that you have your reports to me first thing tomorrow morning," he said sternly. They stood and made their way to the roof where brooms were awaiting for ministry employees.

Hermione knew how to fly a broom, but it by far was not her most preferred mode of travel. If she thought a muggle cab might deliver them to a wizarding neighborhood, she would have taken that route in an instant. Especially with the rain. She opened the exit door to the roof and glanced at the heavy precipitation. "We might need an Impervious Charm cast on our faces so we can see while we fly."

He smiled. "How clever. I've never thought of using that charm quite that way before. But I have a charm that might be better suited." He swirled his wand three times over each of their heads. She had the distinct feeling of being covered in a waxy substance. "I call it the Impermeable Charm. It's similar to the Impervious, except it will keep your entire body dry while you fly."

She felt her skin. "This is amazing! Did you come up with this yourself?"

He nodded. "I combined elements of the Impervious and the Full Body-Bind Curse."

She smiled widely. "Brilliant! We'll still need a disillusionment charm when we take off, but this is really…" she shook her head in astonishment, "well done!"

He smirked. "Any time I can be of service." He opened the door for her. "After you."

They walked out into the rain and Hermione marveled at how the water seemed to roll right off of her. "It's a bit like a duck's feathers, isn't it?"

He held his hand out in front of him and regarded the water. "I suppose it is."

Gathered at the side of the roof was a stand holding about thirty brooms. She sighed and held her hand over the sturdiest looking broom she saw. "Up!" For a dreadful second, the broom did not move an inch. Then, with a force that almost blew her backwards, it popped up into her hand. She rubbed her aching hand in protest as Tom commanded his broom into his palm. "So, how long have you been able to use wandless magic?"

He gave her a considering look. "Since as long as I can remember. At a young age, I knew that I could make things happen. I fixated on it for years, working on harnessing the gift. When I was caught, my parents took me on my first trip to Diagon Alley and bought me everything I might need to be home schooled as a wizard, but I never stopped practicing without a wand. My power was strong. So is yours." He gripped her shoulder and she stared into his face, watching the beads of rain fall from his charmed-dry hair. She'd never noticed how dark his eyes were. Like the eternal darkness stuck between two stars. "I can show you."

Hermione nodded. "It's worth a shot. If I can't fix my arm…"

"We will fix your arm. Wandless magic will always have its uses even to one who can wield a wand. It's raw magic. Unfiltered by a tool. It's pure youness, for lack of a better word." He gazed at her. "You have that raw potential."

She looked at him in awe, then shook her head, chuckling lightly. "You certainly have a way with words, Thomas." She looked at the parchment with the scrawled address. "Let's just get through today. I recognize this street address." She looked out over the top of London and pointed north east. "We'll head that way and pass right out of London and into the suburbs. There's a neighborhood just west of Spellbrook. Land at the fountain at the neighborhood entrance. I'll meet you there where it's safe to disillusion ourselves." She threw her leg over her broom

Tom stepped towards her, hovering his wand over her head and tapped it lightly. The unnerving feeling of having an egg cracked onto her head made her shudder. He waved his wand over his own head and he disappeared from her sight.

"Be careful," she said before jumping off into the storm.

* * *

Birds chirped and flew over the head of Luna Lovegood as she walked through the Black Forest. Despite its name, the woods were full of bright, lush greenery and life Though she was born in a world full of bustling people and politics, she felt most at home surrounded by the unpredictable nature of the magical wild forest. In a single day, she'd spotted foxes, badgers, a family of squirrels and a wild cat. When collecting water from a river, she'd spotted a hippogriff swooping down to snatch a fish from the stream. She drew the drawstring of her bottomless bag tight and tied it to her belt loop, tapping it affectionately. She'd even found a plethora of interesting herbs to bring back to Hermione but, alas, her mission to find any of the magical beasts on her list yielded no results for the day. She'd made her way deep into the Black Forest before the light began to fade. The density of magic in that area made it nearly impossible to apparate in or out from where she was, so if she planned on making it back to the shallower areas of the forest by night fall, she'd need to turn around soon. Munching dishearteningly away at her trail mix, she turned and began to retrace her steps back to where she'd be able to apparate to the nearest village.

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks. The hair on her arms stood on end as a cold chill crept down her spine. She could feel eyes boring a hole into the space between her shoulder blades. She turned her head slowly to the side and in a low voice said, "I apologize if I've disturbed your domain. I am just a traveler seeking knowledge of your wondrous forest. I am leaving for today, but if my presence displeases you I will not return." She stood straight and still while waiting for a response.

Soft laughs whispered through the leaves of the trees above her. She looked upwards but saw only the wind moving the thick canopy of branches, the dark orange of sunset blinking through the leaves. She untied the sweater from around her waist and laid it onto the ground in front of her. She then sat down cross legged on top of it. Luna was not one to feel fear in situations most people would normally find unnerving. Setting her small pack to her side, she placed her empty palms on her knees and waited patiently for the beings to make an appearance.

The wind died down as the forest seemed to consider her. "It is descended from the magic of our daughters," a voice said softly. It was the voice of a woman and her last word seemed to echo all around her like a wind chime.

"It has an aura of curiosity and innocence," came another voice; female but much younger than the first. "It fears us not. Bravery is not uncommon to it."

"It is foolish, then," snapped the older voice.

Luna tilted her head. She'd been called many things in her life. Strange, off putting, and _looney_ were at the top of the list of common brands she'd been marked as, but never foolish. She extended her hands out before her. "I give you my word, you have nothing to fear of me."

Laughter tinkled all around her again and the younger voice spoke. "It thinks we fear."

"There is nothing it could do to hurt us."

"Harm will not come to this forest by its hand. Even so…"

"It smells of _him_ who killed our sister," came the first voice again. The wind picked up violently and Luna shielded her face as leaves and twigs smacked furiously against her.

"Please!" she beseeched. "I don't know what you're talking about!" Looking between her fingers, she was able to make out two figures materializing before her. Something snaked around her legs and she jerked up realizing with a start that she was bound to the ground by tree roots. In an instant, her wand was in her hand and she pointed it at the roots. _"Incendio!"_ she hollered, but the spell seemed to absorb itself into the thick wet bark.

"The wand is of the earth, as are the roots. It recognizes its brethren and will not harm that of its kin," the girls' voices said around her. Luna pulled at the roots binding her legs to the ground and shrieked when another snapped around her wrist, pulling her arm out and to the side. She fell backwards and another snaked around her neck. Realizing her efforts were futile, she fought again to reason with the spirits.

"I don't know anything about your sister or who killed her! If I did, I would certainly do everything in my power to help you find retribution!" The wind died down and the roots paused in their movements. "I-I'm a reporter! I make it my business to investigate and discover the truth. If there's been a crime committed against you, I have the resources to help you!" She waited and listened to the agonizing silence before hearing footfalls near her head. A hand reached down and touched the tree roots around her neck. They slowly fell away from her and she sat up, coughing and rubbing her bruised limbs. She turned her head towards the two women kneeling before her.

"We are listening."

* * *

The home of Ziden and Alete Velch looked more like a Hollywood star's mansion. Hermione hovered over the cement pathway in front of the gated peremiter of the home. Behind the bars was the large fountain. She looked around cold and impatiently waiting for Thomas to arrive. Warm air hit her ear.

"Took you long enough," a voice murmured. Hermione nearly leapt out of her skin and spun around. Thomas' figure appeared as he lifted the Disillusionment Charms off each of them.

"Bloody hell, Thomas, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

A smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he moved to stand by her. They looked over the vast property. "It certainly is large. I find it hard to believe the murderer had an easy time breaking through the wards if even we have to be let inside."

Hermione touched the bars and squinted to get a better look at something moving towards them through the rain. "Someone's coming," she said. A man walked to the gate, face hidden underneath a dark green umbrella. He was tall and lean, dressed in a suit and wearing impeccably shiny black dress shoes. He pulled a long black wand from his sleeve and muttered a spell. The hinges creaked and the gate slowly opened just wide enough for Hermione and Tom to walk through.

"Ms. Granger. It's been some time," said the man, and he inched the umbrella up to look her in the eyes. A dark-skinned palm reached out to shake her hand.

"Blaise!" she exclaimed. "I had no idea it was… I'm so sorry for your loss." She took his hand in hers. "How were you related to them?"

He shook his head, eyes closing tiredly. Alete was my step sister from my mother's previous marriage. We were close in age. After her father died and my mother and I moved away, the two of us stayed close."

Hermione stepped back and motioned to Tom. "Thomas, this is Blaise Zabini. We were both students at Hogwarts together. Blaise, this is my partner."

He turned his head to examine Tom. His eyes narrowed. "Ah, yes. Thomas Yew. Congratulations on your recent employment as an Auror."

Tom's eyes were stony as he took Blaise's hand into a firm shake. "You know of me?"

"Only from the surprisingly little Draco has told me of you," Blaise responded. His grip tightened. "Absolutely terrible what happened to your parents. What _extraordinary_ luck to find out you're related to the great house of Malfoy."

Uncomfortable with the way the two men were staring each other down, Hermione cleared her throat to get their attention. "So, what did Alete and Ziden both do?"

Blaise motioned for them to follow him to the home. "My step sister was a fashion designer for a French witch's fashion line of apparel. She was often abroad, but when she became pregnant, she devoted all of her time to staying home and preparing a life for her child. Ziden made enough for the two of them to live comfortably while she was out of work. He worked for the Ministry as an Unspeakable, but did most of his work from home. There's a lab in the basement that he preferred over the amenities of the Ministry." They got to the front door and Blaise turned to Hermione. "His body is still down there. Hers is in the nursery on the second floor by the master bedroom. If you don't mind, I'd rather not go back in there. Not in the state that it's in."

"Of course," Hermione said. "We'll let ourselves out once we've finished looking the place over. I'll have the Ministry reach out to you by owl once we've finished."

He nodded. "I've had the boy brought to my manor. My name hasn't been tied to Alete's family in some time, so I imagine no one would come to me looking for young Avon. Still, if it's all the same, I'd like to request that my name stay out of any press statements. For his sake."

"I understand." She put her hand on his shoulder. "It's good of you to have taken the baby. Not all of the other children have been so lucky to have relatives in a position to take on a child."

He gave her a small smile. "Thank you for your discretion." Then he turned to the door and waved his hand over the lock. A series of clicks were heard inside the large wooden door before he reached to the handle and opened it for them. "Do stop by my home if you have any questions. I dare say I'll be spending a lot of time there. It would be… nice to catch up." His smile fell as he glanced back at Tom. "Thomas."

Tom said nothing, but met his cool gaze. He considered using Legilimency to see what the prat thought he knew, but resisted the urge. If Zabini knew no more than the young Malfoy did, Tom had nothing to fear from petty suspicion. They watched as Blaise walked back through the gate and disapparated. "Are the two of you friends?"

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. "Not really, no. He was in our rival house at Hogwarts, but he never bothered me like most of the other Slytherins did. He was actually always pleasant to me. He mostly kept to himself and focused on his studies, which I could appreciate."

They walked inside and Hermione made a terrible effort of hiding her awe of the place. It looked like a top of the line interior decorator had created his masterpiece within the four walls.

"Merlin's beard…" she said, her eyes wildly soaking in the scene. "This place is beautiful!"

Tom ignored the decorations and walked slowly around the perimeter of the room towards a door in the back corner. He opened it and peered inside. "There are stairs in here that lead down."

Hermione snapped back to attention. The basement. "Right. She straightened her back and walked with Tom down the dark stairs. Candles were lit along the walls and the air grew considerably colder. It reminded her of the dungeons at Hogwarts where she took Potions with Professor Snape. As they went lower, a wave of nausea began to hit her stomach. She could feel the dark magic once again. Tom glanced behind himself at her. She almost thought she saw a smile on his lips, but he turned around again and continued down.

They reached the bottom and turned the corner into what Hermione assumed used to be a functioning lab. One of the long tables was flipped over and potions were strewn everywhere. With whatever he had been working on, they were lucky a fire didn't erupt from the volatile liquids. The body of the husband was bound to the ground. Chains had been materialized from the stone floor and were locked around his wrists and ankles. He had been sliced open from neck to navel. Once again, that same strange symbol had been painted around his body with his own blood. This time, though, each of his vital organs had been placed at the seven points of the star. Hermione stepped to the northern most point of the symbol. "It's his heart," she stated. Her voice sounded dead. She could turn off her feelings with her cases and look over the scene as if it were a picture in a book. The disconnect had gotten easier with time and, as much as she wondered what the effect was having on her psyche, she was thankful for it. She looked at the other organs and pointed them out in a clockwise motion. "That's his spleen, stomach, lung, gallbladder, appendix and kidney." She look back up at Tom who was bent down looking in the floo at the back of the basement. "Did you find something?"

He let his finger rub at the ashes and stood up to examine them. He turned to her and held his finger out. "These ashes are a burned green. This wasn't used for fire, it was their transportation floo." She walked to him and held his hand up to her eyes. Then she looked into the fireplace.

"Blaise mentioned he worked from home most of the time. Perhaps he used this floo to have projects brought back and forth to the Department of Mysteries." She gave Tom a meaningful look. "You don't think…"

"The killer might be someone he knew. Someone in the Ministry. With all the wards set around this house, I see no other route inside but through the floo."

She shook her head, but couldn't deny his logic. She hated to think someone on their side might be involved, but she couldn't cross it off her list of possibilities. "Let's keep looking. Is this symbol the same as the one you drew before?" She stared hard at it and tried to discern its meaning as Tom flipped through his notepad.

"Aside from the placement of organs, it's the same."

"The heart is mostly noted and used as a symbol of circulating energy. In the Dark Ages, ancient practitioners of magic used the heart in hopes of animating objects or dead animals," she thought out loud, reciting passages from an old tomb called _Ancient Practices and Anatomy_. "The spleen acts as a filter for blood circulated by the heart. All impurities are detected and eliminated by it. It's use in magic has been for much the same purpose; purifying that which was contaminated. The stomach's main purpose is digestion, but in a spell it could be the vital component to turning organic matter into energy. The lungs take in oxygen and release carbon into the air but symbolically they're seen as a means of taking in the new and letting go of the old." She shook her head, not wanting to believe what she was starting to think about the symbol.

Tom stepped behind her and continued. "The gallbladder was known spiritually as the center of emotion in the body. The appendix is a symbol of the evolution of man from their humbler beginnings. Ancients have used it in trying to evolve men further. Finally, the kidney. It's thought of as being the seat of conscience, desire and wisdom."

Hermione breathed hard, bile forming in her throat as she breathed the dark magic into her lungs. "It's a resurrection spell."

"For Voldemort," Tom finished. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "It didn't work, though."

"How do you know?"

His hand slid down her arm and settled over her stomach. "Can you feel the dark magic inside you?" His lips barely touched her ear as he whispered his question, sending a wave of gooseflesh down her neck. "It's thick in the air and it settles within you when you breathe it in. You feel it here," he pressed gently into her stomach and her back briefly made contact with his chest. "It makes you dizzy. Light headed. That's the feel of dark power yet to be unleashed. He had all the ingredients, said all the right words and drew the right symbol. And yet…" he released Hermione and turned her to face him. "Something was still missing. The catalyst."

"What's the catalyst?" she breathed.

He smirked at her. "I have no idea."

"M-maybe it's Harry and Ginny's…" she couldn't finish the sentence. "Maybe he really can come back."

Above their heads, a loud crash made them jump, wide eyed. Tom immediately had his wand out. "Stay behind me," he ordered and they both quietly hurried back up the stairs. He looked around the door frame that lead back into the living room and saw nothing. He motioned for her to continue following him. Another crash came from above them again. Hermione looked up and whispered, "the second floor." They climbed the stairs and peaked inside the nursery. Alete's dead body was sprawled on the floor in front of the empty crib. She had been killed instantly with what looked like the Avada Kedavra Curse. Her dead eyes stared wide and unfocused; a look of bewilderment on her face. Next to her, a bookshelf full of nursery stories had fallen on its face and a lamp lay sideways on the floor at the other side of the room. Hermione pointed them out to Tom and held her two fingers up. Two crashes. He nodded and motioned for her to follow him out of the room. As she walked through the door, a voice behind her whispered.

"…turn…"

She grabbed the back of Tom's shirt and spun back around. Her head snapped left and right and she looked around the room, but there was no one there.

"…turn…"

The voice came from her feet. She looked down just as a blue glow began to materialize under her shoes. She flung herself backwards into Tom. A translucent shape moved up through the floorboards and hovered in front of her. It was the ghost of Alete Velch. Her eyes were closed. She almost looked like she was sleeping. Hermione reached her hand out. "Oh my… Alete?"

The ghost's eyes slowly opened and a look of terror crossed her features. She opened her mouth wide, took in a deep breath and screamed. "Time turner!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Time turner!" the ghost of Alete screeched again for the hundredth time.

Hermione rubbed at her temples. "Yes, we _get_ it. What of it?"

The spectral moaned in frustration and flew up through the ceiling. More crashing could be heard in the attic.

"She's a newly formed ghost," Thomas said. As much as he tried to remain composed, she could tell from his frown that the noise was beginning to get to him as well. "It could take weeks before she's able to properly communicate with this plane. Possibly even longer. Our best bet is to have someone in the Hauntings and Possessions department come take a look at her."

Hermione nodded. They'd summoned an owl and sent the request for a cleanup about a half hour prior. She'd also requested to have Neville Longbottom and Todric Barnicus called to the scene. They were in charge of cold cases and missing or stolen items. In the meantime, Hermione had been unrelenting in trying to communicate with Alete. Thomas continued to survey the house and found the Velch's house elf dead in the kitchen. This seemed to break through the walls surrounding her emotions more than the other murders had. The poor thing had been hit from behind with the killing curse. At least he hadn't suffered.

Neville was the first to arrive. He knocked on the front door and Hermione rushed to open it. Tom followed behind her. The rain-drenched Auror seemed out of breath. "Neville! Goodness, did you run here?"

He bent over and wiped the rain water from his brow. "I've been all over town. Kinglsey has you working solely on the murder cases, so we're picking up the slack on petty crimes. Last night was pure insanity!"

Hermione cringed. "Sorry you're having to deal with all that."

He shrugged and smiled meekly at her. "It's alright. Todric loves it. It's like his birthday today with all these cases. The man thrives on mischief. He should be here soon." He looked to Thomas and extended his hand. "I'm Neville Longbottom. We haven't been formally introduced yet."

Thomas shook his hand. "I've read your Herbology articles, Mr. Longbottom. Your work with Pamona Sprout was truly inspired. I'm surprised you aren't working under her."

Neville blushed and scratched his head. "Well, you know, I felt I had a duty to help pick up the pieces after the war." He shuffled his shoe. "Maybe when things settle down a bit… I mean, who knows, right? I'm happy for now with my greenhouse." He glanced around the room warily. "So, what did you find?"

"Well, we have some questions about one of your cold cases. Do you know Ziden Velch?"

Neville blinked in surprise. "The Unspeakable? Yes, I've dealt with him on multiple occasions."

"This is his house," Hermione said meaningfully.

Neville's mouth formed a silent 'oh', then he hung his head. "He'd just become a father."

"Yes. What do you know about him? I know his work in the Department of Mysteries is top secret, but…"

The front door swung open and the tall, broad form of Todric Barnicus filled frame. "Boy!" his voice bellowed as he stomped his wet, leather boots onto the tile floor. "Once again, you've arrived to the scene before me!"

Neville cringed. "Mr. Barnicus, you were busy sorting through papers and The Minister ordered us to give Hermione's requests top priority…"

"Paper work! Your excuse is _paperwork?_" He loomed over Neville, water dripping off his beard onto the younger man's face. "I'd take a field job over paperwork in a second even if it _wasn't_ top priority!"

"I'm… sorry?" Neville choked.

Todric glared at him for a fraction longer then burst out into a loud guffaw. "You get your wand tied in a knot too easily, boy!" He slapped him on the back and cast a drying spell over his hair and long coat. His grey mustache curled as he smiled widely. "You did well getting here quick as you did. Couldn't ask for a better partner!" He turned to Hermione and rubbed the top of her head roughly, sending her curls tumbling in all directions. "And how's the little lioness? We here for another good ole' fashioned murder?"

Hermione's hair stuck straight up and she angrily pulled it back and wound it into a bun. "Thank you for coming, Todric. I was hoping you could answer some qu…"

"And how's the new boy?" Todric continued, turning to Thomas and thrusting his hand out. "Feeling overwhelmed yet? Well, you're with like company." He shook Thomas' hand firmly, then whispered not at all quietly, "I can still see she's green around the edges, despite all her huffing and puffing around the department." Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Todric Barnicus had been a first class Auror in his prime, and even though he mightstill have been an intimidating sight to behold, his mind wasn't as sharp as it had once been. Hermione often had to sit through his tales of heroism and listen to his astounding clashes with Death Eaters while wondering how exactly he ever got any work done while monologuing all day.

"I believe Ms. Granger's work speaks for itself, Mr. Barnicus," Thomas said smoothly. "She's put quite a number of Death Eaters into Azkaban and has barely been an Auror for five years."

He laughed again and roughly patted Thomas' shoulder. Hermione didn't miss the small twitch in his eye. "What a sense of humor! No wonder they paired the two of you together!"

Hermione and Thomas both looked to Neville who shrugged apologetically and cleared his throat to get Todric's attention. "Mr. Barnicus, they're inquiring about Ziden Velch. He's one of the murder victims."

"Is he now?' Todric seemed to finally take notice of his surroundings and his mood sobered. "Well, that is definitely unfortunate. He was doing good work for the Department."

"Yes, that's what we'd like to talk with you about," said Hermione. "We were wondering if you knew anything about what he might have been working on."

"We're aware his work as an Unspeakable was classified," Thomas said, "but we have reason to believe he might have known the killer. Possibly even worked with him."

Todric pulled at his mustache in thought. "Well, the man refused to work with anyone. He was proud of the progress he was making and didn't want anyone else to 'muddle things up,' I think his words were." He looked sidelong at Neville. "Why ask us, though? Not that I don't appreciate this little outing, but you could have asked Kingsley about him."

They all jumped as a loud thump was heard over their heads. Todric's wand was out in a flash. "Is someone else here?"

"In a matter of speaking," muttered Thomas.

"It's nothing to be worried about, she's no danger to us," Hermione said, looking up towards the attic. "Mrs. Velch's spirit did not move on. She's a ghost."

Neville seemed horrified. "C-can she tell you who killed them?"

"Unfortunately not. She's only been able to say one thing since she materialized. 'Time turner'."

Todric Barnicus shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I see. So that's why you called us."

Hope flared into Hermione's chest. "Is there any information you can give us?"

Neville's lips were tightly drawn as he looked up at the older man. After a long second, he spoke in a fast, hushed voice. "Ziden was in charge of fixing the broken time turners." He glanced again at Todric to see if he would stop him from talking, but the man simply crossed his arms and let him continue. "They went missing a year ago and we were given the case when it went cold. Naturally, we suspected Ziden. He did in fact have a couple broken time turners in his personal lab here at his home, but they'd been in his possession before the others were stolen. He was enraged, but thankful that his work wasn't a total loss."

Hermione frowned and looked at Thomas. He shook his head. "We found no time turners in his basement," he said. "There looked like there had been quite a struggle, but all we found were destroyed potions and lab equipment."

"That can't be good. He refused to send his remaining supply back to the Ministry after the breach. They have to be here."

"Unless the murderer's plans were two-fold," Hermione said. She stood in front of Todric. "Is there anyone else you can think of that knew what he was working on?"

"Any of the Unspeakables would have known," said Neville. "The project might be top secret, but there's a fairly long list of people with the clearance to have been in the know. It could be anyone in the Department of Mysteries or any number of our superiors."

"Who would Ziden have given access to his personal lab floo?" asked Thomas.

Neville and Todric shared a puzzled look. "I don't know of anyone outside of his department," said Neville. "There's a single floo the Unspeakables use in the Department of Mysteries. Henry Notor is in charge of it." Hermione cringed slightly at the name. "It's possible he gave open access to that single point of entry, but I'm not certain…" He trailed off. Voices were coming from outside and Todric opened the front door. Three men walked in, one holding a brief case. The man with the case walked straight to Hermione and extended his hand.

"Bartley Secrum, head of the Hauntings and Possessions Department. You have a ghost for us to collect?"

"Yes, she's Alete Velch. I believe she is currently in the attic."

Bartley nodded to the other two men with him and they hurried up the stairs while Bartley jotted notes into a small notepad. "Any violent outbursts or possessive behaviors?"

"No," Hermione watched the two men rushing up the stairs with their wands held out. "You aren't going to hurt her, are you?"

"Ghosts can't feel pain, Ms. Granger," he said in annoyance. "Has the ghost managed to move physical items, or does it pass through objects without disturbance?"

Hermione clenched her jaw. "_She_ can move objects. And _she_ is very scared. I would appreciate you doing everything in your power to help her feel safe while she transitions into her new form."

Bartley put his wand away and snapped his notepad closed. "You got it. Should I reserve her a visit to the spa while we're at it? Maybe sign her up for a pedicure?" He sneered and brushed past Hermione who stood with her mouth agape. Thomas put his hand on her shoulder.

"Let them do their job," he said softly.

Todric huffed. "Bloody spooks. They have less humanity than the ghosts they catch. Creepy bunch, the whole lot of them."

Hermione seethed, but brought her temper down to a low broil. "We need to hurry to the Department of Mysteries." She looked to Neville. "Would you mind staying until the clean up crew gets here? Someone needs to let them in. Also, I'd like someone here to make sure we know exactly where Alete's being transported."

"Of course," said Neville with a small smile. "You can count on us. Take care, Hermione."

She nodded and turned to leave with Thomas walking swiftly in her shadow.

* * *

Hermione's steps echoed down the corridor towards the Department of Mysteries. Thomas' were so quiet she had to turn to make sure he was still behind her. They approached a plain black door, torches lighting their path. "Not many Auror's get a chance to see what's behind this door so early in their employment, Thomas," she noted mildly.

He smiled and cocked his head to the side. "I imagine not many fifth year students at Hogwarts get to see it either."

She blinked at the memory of their mission to save Sirius. It was one of the reason she avoided the Department of Mysteries when at all possible. She still wasn't clear on what half of the oddities they tampered with were, but she was sure they weren't entirely wholesome.

At their approach, the large door opened wide for them. She stepped inside onto a deep, black tile floor. Thomas paused before stepping through the threshold, peering in at the odd circular room.

"Hurry," she waved him inside. "Before it shuts you out."

He slipped in just as the door swung shut, the air billowing his cloak to the side. Twelve doors surrounded them. Hermione stood still in the center of the room, waiting. A disembodied, pleasant voice spoke from somewhere above their heads. "Auror, Hermione Granger. Auror, Thomas Yew. Entrance to the laboratory has been accepted." A deep rumbling shook their feet as the walls around them began to spin. Hermione hardened her gaze as the doors blurred together. All at once, the rotating came to a stop and a single door opened. Pale green light spilled out onto the floor. "The laboratory is basically the main office for the Head Unspeakables," Hermione said, stepping through the door. "It's also the only room we're authorized to visit. All other rooms must have an Unspeakable escort with clearance to that particular room. After the time-turner theft, they've had to heighten their security measures in here."

"Understandably so," Thomas said. The smell of brewing potions filled the air. He didn't miss the subtle tint of dark magic laced in the fragrance. The majority of what the Unspeakables worked on was unmonitored and unregulated by the rest of the Ministry, including the Minister himself. Those who gained the title of Unspeakable were notoriously obsessed with their work. If the Ministry didn't allow them their projects, they'd find somewhere else to perform their work. Better to have them working on the side of Wizarding Britain than somewhere unsavory.

They made their way past a few witches and wizards hunched over potions that smoked various shades of green plumage into the air before stopping behind a tall, thin man with salt and pepper hair that seemed to stand straight out in three different directions. Hermione stood a bit straighter and cleared her throat. "Mr. Notor?"

The man spun around and two enlarged, green eyes stared at them widely through huge goggles that were strapped around his head, presumably causing his manic hair style. "Ah!" he exclaimed in a scratchy, high pitched voice. "Ms. Granger. What brings you to my lab? And I see you've brought a specimen." He eyed Tom for an uncomfortably long moment and adjusted tiny gears on the sides of his goggle lenses. "Your muscle, I assume?" He wrung his gloved hands together and grinned a wide, toothy grin. He reminded Hermione of a hybrid between a mad scientist and the Cheshire Cat. He was the other reason she avoided the Department of Mysteries.

The first time she met Henry Notor, Harry had taken her on a tour of the Ministry. It was her second day employed as an Auror and everyone had treated her well enough. Harry had business to attend to regarding an accident one of the Unspeakables had in the Love Room. She was left in the lab with Notor while Harry conducted his business. Within ten minutes, Notor had tried to have her head fitted for a contraption he was working on. She'd been hit with a stunning spell and was all but strapped down to a chair by the time Harry had come back looking for her. The man was a genius, but completely off his rocker. "Not to worry, Mr. Potter," he had said, a bit disappointingly. "I wouldn't have hurt her in the least! She would be safe and sound in this little Pensieve while her body took on someone else's consciousness from within the Pensieve's memory. I could have her back in no time!"

She pushed down the memory of being bound and squared her shoulders. "We're not here for any of your games, Mr. Notor. We've come on Ministry business."

"My-my-my," he clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Ministry business is no business of mine, you know this well enough." He began to turn away from her.

She let her words fly quickly and a bit too loud. "I would think the use of your Department's floo to murder someone under your employ would be a great deal of business to you."

Her words had the desired effect. The room went silent and he slowly turned back to her. "You would think so? My goodness, Ms. Granger, are you of the opinion that someone from this department is your murderer? I hate to disappoint that inquisitive mind of yours, but that is outrageous. My Unspeakables don't have time to go on murderous rampages. Nor the desire." He leered at her. "None of our current projects call for dead bodies."

Hermione's teeth clenched. He was toying with her.

"What can you tell us about Ziden Velch?" Thomas asked.

"My goodness, let me see. I can't really say. His project was simply so _unspeakable_," he retorted sarcastically. He eyed Thomas' form again, finding insult in a man so young and well put-together having the audacity to even speak to him.

"His work with the broken time turners was hardly that, I'm afraid to tell you. But that's not entirely what we're interested in," Tom responded calmly. "What's interesting to us is what makes him stand out from the rest of you. He conducted his work from home, am I correct?"

Henry's nose crinkled as if he'd smelled something particularly odorous. "'_Stand out?'_ He was hardly anything special. He was an arrogant man who felt too good to mix his studies up with the rest of us. He married into money and could afford the luxuries of a lab to himself, but that in no way made him superior to anyone here."

"Not to be rude, but I'm sure not just _anyone_ could be trusted with the prestigious task of mending time turners," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow at the potions Henry had been brewing.

"A-Any dunderhead can cast a repair spell and wow the board of directors with his charm and bribes. That doesn't mean his work actually amounted to anything!" Henry snapped. "Not a single time turner, including the ones that were stolen months ago, could move anything through time. Split you right down the middle and send your left half the Peru and your right half to China, sure! Make it so you can't taste the food you're eating until exactly 24 hours later, produce copies of yourself from different points in your time line, moves your mind back in time so you're a two year old in a man's body…" he huffed and took a breath, "or it just plain _kills_ you."

Hermione looked to Tom. "Does everyone here have access to your floo?"

"Of course! Many of my staff get harassed by other Ministry employees for information on projects. Better for everyone if we just floo from here."

"We'll be needing a report of all your employees' activities last night. When they left the department, when they arrived home, and if any witnesses can attest to their statements."

He wagged his finger. "Tick-tock, Ms. Granger, tick-tock. We don't have the time to play your little cat and mouse game." He waved her away.

"I'll be most interested in your activities as well, Mr. Notor."

He frowned at her. "_Insolent _little chit, aren't you? What makes you think we have to take any part in your investigation?"

"The serial killings might not mean much to you, but I assure you it means a great deal to all the _peasants_ you choose to ignore outside these walls. Every last witch and wizard is invested in the capture of whomever is responsible. You might be able to get away with doing as you please down here without any authority figures getting in your way, but I assure you, if I cast suspicion of murder on your department, I will have the full force of the Ministry down in these depths turning every one of your experiments inside out." Hermione gently touched a beaker with the tip of her finger and moved it slowly towards the edge of his lab table. "I don't believe we would be very mindful of how careful we are either. Things might…" the beaker's base hung precariously over the edge, "…get broken."

The beaker fell and Henry lunged forward, catching it before it hit the floor. Rage filled the enlarged eyes magnified in his goggles and he reached for his wand. Tom took a step forward and Henry stopped. They seemed frozen while watching each other carefully. Henry's hands flew back up to his goggles and he squinted while turning the gears this way and that. A chuckle came from his mouth and he slowly smiled, his hands twitching and moving back down to his sides. The chuckle became louder until he was almost screaming with laughs that shook his entire body.

"You will have your report," he wheezed between breaths. "I will have it sent to your office by tomorrow morning."

Hermione was stricken. She cast a glance at Thomas, but couldn't understand what had transpired between the two men. Without the dark magic detecting goggles that Henry Notor wore, she had no way of seeing the massive amounts of dark energy that had begun to radiate off of Tom in that moment. Enough dark magic to destroy the entire Ministry. Possibly even the city itself. He continued to laugh hysterically.

Hermione took a couple steps away from him as he doubled over and clutched his stomach. "Right- good then. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Notor." She turned and motioned for Thomas to follow her.

"Ms Granger!" he called after her. "Do take care to watch your _back_! I still have plans for that brain of yours." Hermione stifled a shiver and quickened her pace, his laughs chasing after her.

They stepped back into the spinning room and the lab door slammed shut behind them. Hermione rubbed roughly at the gooseflesh that sprung up on her arms. "That man is positively out of his _mind!_" she seethed.

"Yes," Thomas agreed, his lips quirking upwards. "I rather like him."

Hermione shook her head and looked at her watch. "We should have plenty of time to write up our report. Let's go back to the office." The doors spun and blurred, but this time when the room slowed to a stop, there was only one door. Hermione hurried forward to open it, eager to leave the Department of Mysteries. It flung open and she almost ran right into the cart pushed by a very bedraggled Clarence Clearwater. She jumped to the side and took hold of his shoulder to steady herself.

"Clarence!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry! Bit of a hurry, I'm afraid. You made it in to work!"

Clarence was blushing so hard, she worried he might faint. "I-I- yes. P-Pe-Pe… my c-cousin sent m-me an owl…"

Hermione frowned. She'd never heard his stutter so bad before. She patted his shoulder. "It was quite hectic earlier without you, but you shouldn't force yourself into work if you're not feeling well. Penelope handled herself just fine."

He smiled slightly and then his eyes widened as if remembering something. "C-couldn't let you g-g-go without this." He reached into his cart and pulled out her coffee. "It's not hot anym-m-m-"

"You are too good to me, Clarence." She reached out and took the coffee, sipping it happily.

"Indeed he is," Thomas said smoothly. "I wonder what it would take to have a coffee delivered straight to me each morning."

Hermione gently nudged him with her elbow. "Start by letting him know what kind of coffee you prefer."

Thomas seemed to consider Clarence for a moment. "Two shots of espresso poured over ice," he smirked. "No sugar."

Clarence looked to Hermione, then down at his feet. "O-of course." He pushed his cart hurriedly past the two of them then and entered the circular room.

Hermione stared after him, a thought forming in her mind. "Clarence," she called after him. He looked up and she noticed how sunken his eyes seemed. He really should have just stayed home. "Keep your eye out in there, would you? Let me know if anyone seems a bit odd."

Clarence frowned. "Th-they're all fairly odd."

Hermione bit her lip. "More odd than normal, then. Just keep your eye on them for me, would you?"

Hermione couldn't understand why he looked so dejected, but his demeanor did seem to perk up at her request.

"I'll let you kn-n-now."

"Right then," she smiled. "By the way. I asked your cousin a few weeks before my leave of absence to request a list from St. Mungos of all projected pregnancies in wizarding London. Would you mind seeing if she's made any progress? Let her know I need that list as soon as possible."

"O-of course," he said, gripping his cart as if in support.

"Thanks, Clarence! See you around?"

He nodded and the door slammed closed, ending their conversation.

Hermione sighed and looked at her cup of cold coffee. Tom leaned towards her. "You know, I know where you can get not only a fresh one of those, but probably one better than you've ever tasted."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's fine. We don't have time to be detouring anyway."

It wouldn't be a detour. The destination has been on our list for some time, but you seem to have been avoiding it."

Her eyebrows creased and her amber eyes looked at him questioningly. "Where?"

He smiled. "The Malfoy Manor. I'm sure the library will have some information on that symbol the killer's drawing. More importantly, you must be eager to research your…condition."

Her heart fell into her stomach and she felt the beginnings of panic rolling in to the edge of her consciousness making tips of her fingers tingle. She couldn't say no. It was the perfect time and they had no excuse not to. "Sure," she said, controlling the tone of her voice. "Why not."

* * *

Every screeching thought in her head told her _why not_ as she walked the stone path to the dark manor. The knife. The blood. The scream being ripped from her throat that harmonized with the insane cackling of a mad woman. She itched her arm. _Mudblood_, it read in angry capital letters. She had been labeled inside the four walls of that manor as an inferior. As a blemish. She would have been killed were it not for the life sacrifice of Dobby. She squared her shoulders.

_Be brave, Hermione. You are the one in control now. You are the one with the power. You are a bloody Auror, for Merlin's sake! Pull yourself together!_

She looked around at the court yard. What had once been filled with beautifully shaped hedges and other purposefully placed foliage was now overrun with weeds and ivy that snaked over white marble statues and cracked through their delicate carvings. They stopped at the front gate and Thomas raised his finger to the curving bars. Slowly, he raked his fingernail down the metal. The bars uncurled themselves at his touch as if fleeing from it. He pushed the gate open and ushered Hermione through. The door to the home unlatched immediately as he gripped the handle. Once inside the entryway, flashes of Hermione's memories overlay the surfaces of ornamental pieces and she did her best to focus on Thomas' back as she followed him.

Voices floated from down the hall. They were too hushed for her to hear any of the words, but she could make out the anger. Wary of the possibility that Thomas hadn't actually announced their visit, she made a point to allow her footfalls to become heavy. Her steps echoed back down the hall and the voices silenced. Thomas turned his head slightly and smirked at her. They walked into a fire lit room. Lucius Malfoy sat in a large, vintage leather chair looking tiredly into the fireplace. His son, Draco Malfoy, was standing beside him. His arm leaned casually against his father's chair and his eyes stared hard at Thomas, then flicked to Hermione.

"Ms. Granger," he said, the familiar sneer of her surname causing his lips to curl. "This certainly is a surprise."

"Mr. Malfoy." She nodded her head to both men. "I was under the impression that our visit was announced. Forgive us if we've interrupted your evening."

"Not at all," Draco looked down at his father who never took his eyes from the fire. "I was just about to return to my home. And besides," he glared back at Tom. "Uninvited guests aren't exactly something new as of late."

Tom's teeth flashed in a wide smile. "That much is true seeing as you're still here, Draco."

Draco's shoulders tensed and looked as if he might have a retort. Glancing at Hermione again, he seemed to think better of it.

Hermione, eager to bring the subject back to business, stepped towards the platinum haired men. "I was told we might find some literature here that could help us in a case we're working on. If it's not too much trouble, would you mind allowing us a few hours in your library?"

Lucius had no reply. Draco sighed. "Of course. Am I correct in assuming this is about the murders of late?"

Hermione nodded.

"Why don't you show Ms. Granger the way, Draco?" Tom asked, walking slowly towards the older Malfoy. "I would like a moment with Lucius, if you don't mind."

Draco's jaw clenched. "Of course. This way please."

Hermione frowned, perplexed. Was Draco _taking orders?_ She looked to Thomas.

"I'll only be a moment," he smiled at her.

Draco motioned for her to follow him and she obliged. Once they were out of earshot, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Not here," he said quietly and she snapped her jaw shut. What the bloody hell was going on? They turned a few more corners and just when she'd become decidedly lost, he stopped and turned to her. "I'd like to thank you for your help with Blaise today. He filled me in on the situation and despite our…differences in the past, I wouldn't have anyone other than you working the case."

She blinked, surprised. "I- well, thank you, Malfoy."

"I feel the need to apologize for many things, Granger. I've never had an opportunity, but now is as good a time as any. Being here must be difficult for you."

She lowered her head and looked down at his polished shoes. "I would have avoided it if I could." He shuffled his feet and she looked back up as he ran his hands through his hair in a characteristic so reminiscent of Harry that she almost laughed. "I have to admit, this entire situation is rather strange."

He nodded. "Well, if there is any way I can be of assistance in the future, I'd be happy to help. Blaise has been a brother to me and his loss is mine as well."

"I appreciate that," she said. He placed his hand on the wall and it shuttered slightly, then began to open. Her eyes widened as light flooded into the corridor. The library opened up to them. The glass ceiling allowed the sun's light to illuminate the large lounge. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling and a winding wooden stair case allowed access to the second floor. She breathed in the scent of the ancient texts and itched her palms in anticipation. "Merlin, _do _try to contain yourself."

She realized her mouth was hanging open and she closed it. "I must take my leave now. Mother is expecting me. I believe the section you'd be most interested in is in that far back corner." He pointed.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Malfoy, what exactly is going on between…"

He held his finger up to his lips and shook his head. "I do hope we can meet again and bury the hatchet, so to speak." His eyes bore into hers. "Be careful," he warned. With that last ominous statement, he turned on his heel and left.

Hermione watched him go, her head whirling with unanswered question. What exactly was going on between the Malfoy's and Thomas? And was that warning in regards to her case? Or to-

"Sorry about that."

Hermione gasped and spun, flinging her fist out to strike. Thomas' hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist from the air before it could make contact with his face.

"You wouldn't be planning on making a habit out of that, would you?" he asked mockingly.

"That depends on whether or not it's your intent on making a habit out of sneaking up on me!" she seethed, massaging her wrist. She gathered her wits.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" he asked, looking around at the library. "It was hard to leave knowing I wouldn't have daily access to this any longer. But, I dared not be a burden any more than necessary."

Hermione studied him. "What is the matter with Lucius?"

Thomas shrugged and began leading her through the book sections. "The war had a nasty effect on him, I'm afraid. One too many curses finally caught up with him. His mind is still there, of course. It just comes and goes."

"How awful," she said.

"Indeed. And young Mr. Malfoy has never quite gotten around to trusting me. I'm afraid he believes I've been taking advantage of his father's fragile mental state." He lazily let his fingers trail along the book spines as they walked towards the back of the library. The orange hue of the setting sun cast an ominous glow across that side of the room.

His explanation towards her suspicions were too convenient, but she decided to let the matter rest for the moment. "Malfoy and I never saw eye-to-eye in school either, so I can relate to being the target of his loathing. He seems to have grown a bit, though."

Thomas chuckled softly. "Perhaps he's just gotten better at hiding his true thoughts. Ah! Here we are."

Hermione quickly began scanning to book titles. "Are you sure? _Madam Iris' Book of Pastries, From Apple Strudel to Zeppole, A Balanced Meal for the Elderly Wizard? _Thomas, these are wizarding cook books." Thomas reached for _Magicking your Diet_ and pushed it deeper into the shelf. A small click was heard and the shelf popped forward an inch.

"Can't leave this section open for just anyone to happen upon," Thomas said. Intricate hinges allowed him to pull the shelf out and to the side. Another shelf was revealed behind it. Hermione feathered her finger tips over the leather bindings and breathed in the smell of old parchment and ink. Her lips silently moved as she read off titles.

"I can't believe I'm actually standing here." She grabbed _The Nightshade Guide to Necromancy. _"This book alone could land the owner into Azkaban for life!" she scolded in a hushed voice, but her eyes were bright and she seemed unaware of her grin.

"Lucky for you that its whereabouts remain unknown to the Ministry," Thomas said, taking the book from her hands and looking it over. "Look through this one if you're so inclined. The iconography of the organs placed on our symbol reminded me of African voodoo rituals. Necromancy was birthed in that continent." He handed the tome back to her and she hugged it to her chest.

They studied through texts for the better part of the late afternoon until it became so dark that candles lit across the library's chandeliers. Thomas had summoned a house elf to bring them fresh coffee and she had to admit that it was much better than anything she'd ordered from her normal coffee shop. With caffeine buzzing through her head, Hermione had 3 books opened and jumped back and forth between them. Thomas studied her. The tight bun she normally kept her hair in had slowly begun to droop down her back as her head moved back and forth with the text. She almost angrily reached behind her and unwound it from the loosened knot. He humored over how it framed her face like a tan lion's mane. Her finger traced the text below a symbol and she paused, blinking furiously.

"Found something?" he asked.

She glanced up at him, eyes almost glazed in deep thought. "If I didn't know better…" she trailed off then jumped forward and leaned over the table to look at his books. "Show me what you've found first."

Thomas pushed a book towards her. "This is _The Corruptive Qualities of Calculations_ by Trik Tenebris. He's described the potential uses for the number seven in spell casting." Thomas pointed to a passage. "Seven seems to be a spiritual center for all things sacred. The moon cycles, colors, music, the seven planets of antiquity and even the basic structures of crystals. Here, though," he pointed to a cluster of circles on the page, "is what's known as the Seed of Life. It's formed by seven circles and creates this pattern." He traced his finger around the flower shaped pattern the circles combined to create. "Elements of this symbol can be found within the one used by the murderers. It's considered holy by many muggle religions, but ironically used most in the Dark Arts as parts of a creation spell."

"Seven was also deeply revered as a magical number by Voldemort." Hermione murmured, studying the page. "He was obsessed with it."

Tom smiled. "Is that so?"

Hermione looked back to her books. "On that same subject, the heptogram, or seven pointed star, is a symbol of perfection. Even Godliness." She pointed towards another book. "Organs were commonly used by ancient wizarding ancestors before wands were readily accessible. They had to make do with what they had available, and the organs of other witches or wizards were particularly potent in spells. I get the feeling that our murderers are trying to create their own new symbol and they're using elements of different ancient magics to produce results. They've been experimenting."

"And failing. The level of increased trauma they have induced on their victims can attest to their frustration."

"Or their newfound enjoyment of torture."

"But that right there is the problem I've been running into. An organization would be methodical. Signs of experimentation aren't unheard of, but some of the brutality has seemed more the style of a single killer. The group dynamic has checks and balances. It wouldn't allow for one of their own to stray from the plan and indulge in blood lust or rape." She rubbed her eyes and sighed. "Regardless, dark magic like this isn't exactly used commonly. Perhaps we can get the ministry to pass putting a tracker out on the use of some of the enchantments listed in these rituals."

Thomas stood and rounded the table to sit by her. As he slightly angled her book to read the spells, his shoulder pressed softly against hers. Her stomach flipped. _He's a partner_, she told herself. _Grow up already!_

He pulled a few blank parchments towards him and muttered a doubling charm. The text from the books duplicated onto the sheets. She chuckled. "You know, I used to hate that spell. Harry and Ron used it all the time to copy my class notes when they weren't paying enough attention." She looked at him. "Too busy trying to save the world to concern themselves with school."

He closed the book and reached for another one. "I've heard that most of what you learned from your studies was what saved the three of you time and time again." She shrugged and massaged her shoulder absently. His eyes followed her hand's movements, then he stood up abruptly.

"Come. I have one other room to show you while the time still permits us." She frowned, but stood and gathered their papers. "Leave those. They will be handled for us." She lowered the pages back down as he began walking away and hurried to catch up with him. They exited the library and wound through the maze-like corridors to a set of double doors. Thomas opened them for Hermione and she stepped inside. The room was dark.

"What is this?" she asked, turning back to Thomas. He stood in the door frame silhouetted by the flames from the outer hallway.

"This is a dueling room. Any spells cast get absorbed into the walls surrounding it and we won't need to worry about destroying anything. I brought you here to gauge the full effects of your problem in a hazard-free setting."

"Duel? But I could hurt you! I could hurt _myself_!" She began pacing back to the door, but he shut it quickly and plunged them into complete darkness. Fire light suddenly flared up from candles surrounding the room. As her eyes adjusted, Thomas was gone from the entry way.

"I take that as a challenge," his voice was just behind her and she jumped away, grabbing her wand from her holster. As she pointed it at him, dread and doubt filling her chest. The sound of a gunshot echoed in her memory and her hand began to shake.

Tom's eyes narrowed. "_Relashio!_" he commanded.

Still in shock at the turn of events, she quickly countered with a Protego charm. Her wand sparked, but the spell faltered. The effects of his Relashio numbed her fingers and she dropped her wand. Frustrated, she bent to pick it up.

"_Stupify!"_

She gasped and lunged forward, grabbing her wand and dodging the attack just in time.

"Thomas, I can't-"

"_Expulso!_"

Hermione dodged the blue light of the spell just as the first explosion blasted where her feet had been. She quickly dodged three more blasts.

"You can't just run from me, Hermione. I could do this all night. _ Stupify!_"

That grazed her leg and she cringed while trying to shake the feeling back into it. Furious and panting, she glared at him standing calm and looking bored. He was right, dodging was getting her nowhere.

"Come now, Hermione, where's that cunning I've heard so much about? Where's the strength of Hogwarts' brightest witch?" He blasted more curses and she continued running along the padded floor. "Did you run away during that final battle? Did you run away from _Him_?"

"_Stupify!"_ she cried. A blast shot from her wand and Tom raised his hand as if catching a ball she'd tossed to him. He crushed the spell in his fist.

"Weak!" he bellowed and shot a stunning charm at her ankle.

She dropped to the floor and pointed her wand again. "_Stupify!"_ He swatted the blast away like a fly and began walking towards her.

"Are you even trying to stop me?" Another spell blasted towards her and she moved her head away just in time. Was he trying to kill her? He was paces away and slowly lifting his wand to point at her.

"_BOMBARDA!" _she cried! The light shot straight and true. His eyes widened and he ducked. They both watched her spell crash and explode against the wall. Her breathing was coming in rasps as he turned back to her and smirked.

"Well done," he said and lowered his hand to help her up.

She grit her teeth together and let out a guttural yell. She smacked his hand away and leaped towards him. Her balled fist barely missed his face. His smile grew wide and he grabbed her wrist. She twisted her body around causing his arm to lock up and release its grip on her. He blocked another punch then grabbed her arm and swung her around. Her back hit the wall hard and stars blocked her vision. He pulled her hands over her head, gripping them both painfully together with one palm and grabbed her neck with his other.

"Thank you, Hermione. That's what I've been waiting to see."

And then he was kissing her.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The way her eyes widened in fear of his approach stirred something deep inside Tom that he only felt when taking a life. He threw a stunner spell at her and watched it ricochet off her ankle. He knew it hadn't been a severe injury, but the sound of it made his heart beat faster. She ran from him, which in itself was amusing, but he needed more. Of what, though, he couldn't quite figure out. Here before him was the girl who ended him. Whose resourcefulness and cunning outmatched whatever plan his past _(future?)_ life had planned out. Yet she fell before him.

He'd known there was something besides her injury holding her back this whole time. A witch like her would have brewed the best mending potions possible to heal herself. A cursed injury might have been one thing, but a bullet wound should have been child's play. She needed to be pulled out of whatever mental blocks were holding her magic back. She needed to be ripped away from her past and pulled back into the moment.

She fired a Stupefy at him and he easily waved his wand through it. "Are you even trying to stop me?" he chided her. Again, her eyes widened in fear and he drank the sight in like cool water. But, it wasn't what he wanted. Not from her. He raised his wand once more, now mere paces from her. She was completely cornered. Nowhere left to run.

Something in her eyes changed. Her brows knit tightly together and her lips curled back into a snarl. "BOMBARDA!" she hollered. The light from her wand was solid and he managed to quickly duck before it hit him square in the face. The blast hit the padded walls and sputtered out against their wards.

Shocked, he turned back to face her. "Well done," he said, sincerely pleased. He put his wand away and reached down to help her off the ground, but the same look of bestial fury clung to her features. She slapped his hand away from her and launched herself at him, growling as she shoved him and threw a fist at his face. His stomach tickled with unknown glee as he dodged her fist and grabbed her wrist. To his astonishment, she contorted her body so his arm would either hyperextend or he'd have to release her. Reluctantly, he let go.

_Oh, that won't be happening again, Hermione._

Her hair flew wildly in all directions as she spun back around and continued her assault. The scent of lavender and overloaded his senses. He side stepped another punch and grabbed her by the arm, swinging her around and knocking her back into the wall. The air burst out of her lungs and she took in deep, ragged breaths, her chest heaving as she did so. He raised her arm over her head and grabbed the second, encasing both of her wrists in his single palm before grabbing her neck. Not too tight, though. She'd done well tonight.

She had pleased him.

"Thank you, Hermione. That's what I've been waiting to see." He couldn't stop his body. His lips were on hers before his actions even registered in his mind. Their mouths warred against each other, both in a confusion of overwhelming emotions. Rage and surprise countered his heated desire. She struggled against him and he leaned against her body to still her. She was so warm and the taste of her coffee from earlier teased his tongue. She stilled and he softly grazed his tongue across her lower lip. He felt her shudder and he smiled, rubbing his thumb across her chin. He could feel the power coming off of her in waves and it took an aggravating force of will not to meet that power with his. The urge to unleash the magic he'd kept subdued and envelope her in it, to _merge_ it with hers, was almost maddening. "I can _feel_ you coming back to life," he whispered across her mouth. "It's intoxicating." Her eyes flashed.

Suddenly, she twisted her hip and shoulder to the side, tangling his arms across each other, and dropped herself to the ground. Her weight pulled him down and threw off his balance. The sudden movement allowed her to pry her wrists apart and she rolled away from him. He slowly righted himself back up and turned to see her grab her wand from the ground. Then she ran to the door and pried it open. Tom blinked at the light form the outer halls flooding the room and realized of what he'd done. Before he could say anything, she was gone.

No matter. She was distressed, but it wouldn't take long for her to understand what he'd done for her. The magic that was once locked away inside her found its way out at her bidding and she would at least be thankful for that. He looked at the ring he'd fashioned, it's mate adorning the fleeing witch, and smiled. It's not like she'd be able to tell anyone anyway.

He touched his fingers to his lips. But where had _that_ come from? He shook the thought from his mind. He had more pressing matters to deal with while he was still in the Manor. Mainly, a little light reading about three ancient brothers who tried to defy Death.

* * *

_Where had _that _come from?!_ Hermione ran from the manor and fled the front garden gates. She could practically feel the anti-apparition wards slipping off of her as she passed through them and, without thinking, she'd apparated back into her flat. It was then she realized she'd left all of her things back at the library in her bag. She cursed under her breath.

He'd attacked her! He'd hurt her ankle! He'd _kissed_ her!

She grabbed her head and held in the yell that desperately wanted to come crashing through her throat. The fire in her floo roared to life and, for a terrible second, she thought Thomas was coming through. When she realized the flames were a normal, warm orange and not green, her nerves slowly calmed. She stared into the fire her rage had summoned, thinking over the night, and slowly pulled her wand from its sheath.

"_Aguamenti_," she commanded. Water flew from her wand tip and doused the flames. "_Incendio_," she tried, and the fire came back to life. Her magic was back. She fell to the floor and hugged her wand to her chest, tears blurring the flames as she allowed her relief to flow over her in that moment. But it was short lived as a heavy knock thumped on her door.

She rubbed at her eyes angrily. Surely Thomas would have enough tact to not come after her. "Just go, Thomas!" she barked. "I'll have words with you tomorrow."

There was a pause and then another knock, louder this time. She scrambled back up to her feet and marched to the door. "You man-handle me and then expect me to just answer your call as soon as you see fit?" She threw the door open and the face of an enraged Ronald Weasley met her gaze.

"Ron-" her voice cracked and his name barely left her lips as a ghostly whisper.

"You've been dodgin' me, 'Mione." His lips were set thin as he leaned his shoulder against the door frame. Despite his relaxed demeanor, his blood-shot eyes told a different story. "Aren't you going to invite your fiancé inside?"

"How do you know where I live?"

"I had Harry ask Ginny. Wasn't exactly too hard," he shrugged. "She seemed happy enough that I wanted to talk with you at all after you left me high and dry." He made to push past her, but she blocked him with her arm.

"Now's not a good night, Ron. I know you want to talk, but-"

"Talk?" he laughed and pushed her arm away, marching right inside. "I don't want to talk, I'm just here to see how you're living it up here without me. Fancy London flat you got yourself, didn' ya." He nudged one of the many piled boxes with his feet. "Haven't quite made yourself at home yet, though."

"I'll get to it when work permits me." She crossed her arms.

"Who's Thomas?"

She blinked at that. "What?"

Ron slowly turned his head and the fire in the floo cast deranged shadows across his features. "Who. Is. Thomas?" he slowly asked again in a dangerous voice.

"He-" Her mind instantly went to the kiss and she quickly buried the image. "He's my partner. Kingsley just assigned him to my case.

"Ah. And you get in the habit of letting your partners 'man-handle' you, is that it?"

"What? Ronald, no! He was-." her mouth clamped shut. She licked her lips and tried again. "We were-." Again, her mouth closed and she frowned.

"Can't even come up with a good excuse on the spot!" he yelled, eyes wide. "I see how it is then!" He shoved one of her boxes off the counter and dishes spilled out, breaking against the tile floor. "I _knew_ this is what you'd be up to, saddling up with the first man that walks into your life." He shoved another box, but it was only full of linens. He growled and pulled out his wand.

She pointed her wand at him faster. "That is _enough_!" she bellowed. "_Petrificus totalis_!" Ron's body stiffened and he fell hard to the floor. She heard a crack and quietly hoped he'd broken his nose upon landing. "What gives you the _right?_" she shouted. "What makes you think you can do what you did and then judge me? I swear, it's like I don't even _know_ you anymore!" She shakenly stood while he tried to mutter through his petrified lips. "If we talk- if you even have the _capacity_ to speak civilly to me – it will be on my terms. _Aguamenti!"_ She put the fire out and cast a levicorpus on his prone body, levitating and placing him into her floo. She grabbed a handful of green powder and looked down at his bloodied features. Apparently, his nose had broken after all. "_Finite Incantatem_." He blinked and his limbs slowly began to soften. "Cottage 629 Ottery St Catchpole, Devon," she said, their old shared address sounding more like a curse than a command. She threw the powder down onto his face and he disappeared in a green flame. Then she waved her wand around the perimeter of her home, making sure all the wards Thomas had set were still intact. She looked back at the floo and muttered a command under her breath. She pointed her wand and successfully closed off Harry and Ginny's address from her floo network. She hadn't told her friends about Ron to spare them the stress. With Ginny being pregnant and Harry obsessing over her case, she'd thought her drama would overwhelm them. It seemed she'd underestimated the complications their ignorance would cause. She would have to talk with Ginny at least, but she'd face that tomorrow. Her eyes were becoming heavy with the events of the day and, undoubtedly, her renewed use of magic spells. _Better to just sleep_, she thought, _and let tomorrow's worries belong to tomorrow_.

* * *

Ron went crashing through his fire place, coughing green plumes of floo powder as he scrambled to his feet. "Bloody _bitch!_" he roared and launched himself back into the fireplace. He pounded his fist against the brick backing repeatedly, then cringed and grabbed his bleeding fist. As he stared down at his wrecked knuckles, a small drop of blood dripped from his nose. He frowned and touched his face, pulling away more blood. Then he looked at his left hand. The healed stub where his left thumb had once been made him pause. Tears of rage and something he wouldn't admit to himself as being regret began to pool in his eyes. How had things gotten so bad? How had _he _gotten so bad? She didn't even recognize him anymore? He was still Ron, _her _Ron. He loved her and he just wanted her to come home. Why was he buggering things up so terribly? Maybe he _was _different… He shook his head and stumbled back through his living room to the kitchen, digging through the cabinets.

"Where is it, where is it? I _know_ there's one more…" he threw bottles of empty fire whiskey out onto the floor as he rummaged. He barked a laugh as he finally grabbed an almost empty bottle. He plopped down onto the floor and raised the bottle to his lips, upending it and draining it in a single gulp. Sighing, he wiped his mouth, absently wondering if he should sell some of the muggle junk he'd stored in the basement to buy more. Not like he really had a job anymore. George didn't exactly fire him so much as he told him to not come back until he was sober. He cocked his head to the side. Had he just heard something outside his door? He steadied himself back to his feet and walked to his window. Slowly pulling the curtain to the side, he peaked over to the front porch. No one was there. His heart leapt into his throat with sudden glee. He ran to the door and swung it open, looking down at a crate. This was the fourth like it that had arrived at his door in the past six months. He'd managed to keep it a secret from Hermione, who'd assumed it was more muggle shipments. He reached down and pulled the crate inside then began prying it open. There was no label or any marking to show where it had come from, and he'd long since given up trying to figure out who was sending it. The lid came off with a splintering crack. Amber liquid sparkled against glass and he pulled out one of the many bottles of fire whiskey. He uncorked it reverently and drank it down. The warmth poured down his throat and settled at the base of his stomach. Heat filled his head as his heart rate tripled, and he clenched his ruined left hand.

"Can't even recognize me, can she?" he seethed, eyes beginning to glaze with the effects of something that couldn't possibly be just alcohol. "I'll have to remind her, then. I'm Ronald fucking Weasley."

* * *

The light of dawn peaked through the wide canopy of trees and shone against the waking body of Luna Lovegood who had been slumbering quite soundly on a soft bed of clovers. She opened her eyes and stretched before suddenly remembering the last thing she'd seen before passing out. She looked around and knew she was still in the forest, yet it seemed different somehow. Like everything was moving slowly. Even the morning light seemed to move in a fluid and languid state. The mid-September air should have been cold, but it was warm enough to remove her sweater.

"It is awake!" a young voice chirped above her head. She looked up and saw a lithe figure hopping down from tree branches and landing at her side. "It certainly took its time! Just as we were starting to find it interesting!" The young girl looked to be in her young teens and had long, golden hair. Her accent hinted at German roots, but also of something else. Something older. She wore a light, sleeveless tunic held together with green ivy wrapping around her waste. Tiny leaves and flower buds entwined her yellow locks of hair and, as the young girl watched her with wide, curious blue eyes, the buds slowly bloomed, withered, and grew again. Around her neck was a long, thin silver chain which hung a tiny key. Luna was reminded of a young Greek goddess. The girl placed a handful of nuts and berries at Luna's side. "Does the little she-thing know who I am?"

Luna blinked and, as usual, spoke without thinking. "I know that you are very beautiful. And I know that you are eternal." Her voice sounded strange in the air. Almost as if it came from far away or under water. She rubbed at her ear and it popped like it would if she'd taken a broom straight up into the sky and felt the atmosphere recalibrate.

The young girl smiled widely and began laughing. It almost didn't sound human. The high, tinkling sound came from all around them and the light from the sun shown just a bit brighter having heard it. "It speaks the truth, but it still knows so little!" She motioned for Luna to eat and she took a berry and popped it into her mouth. "There was a time I was known by all. My name was a hushed prayer and I was both loved and feared." She swung her hair over her shoulder. "I am Hecate."

Luna couldn't mask her delight. Her father, who she felt was a scholar in all things outside the realm of common wizarding knowledge, had obsessed over the old pagan stories of Hecate. She was the goddess of magic, the night, and doorways and favored by Zues above all others. Her lineage was the subject of much debate, even by the ancient scholars themselves, but Xenophilius Lovegood believed her to be something far more primeval. In his words, "magic was, and so was She." Luna bowed her head in reverence. "I am humbled."

Hecate sat up straight, enjoying the praise. "And what does it call itself?"

Luna placed her hand on her chest. "I am Luna Lovegood. I'm a reporter." Hecate cocked her head to the side, not understanding the term. "I search the world for truths that lie hidden and write about them so everyone can know of it."

Hecate clapped her hands in excitement. "A scribe! Will the Luna be writing about me?"

Luna chuckled. "If that's alright with you, I would absolutely love to!"

"Out of the question," a hard voice boomed. The sound of trees cracking pulled Luna's attention away from the small goddess. The trunks of the large trees seemed to bend aside creating a pathway for a tall woman walking towards them.

Hecate jumped up and stamped her foot. "But Morgan," she almost wined, "if we let word get out, we could have more interesting visitors!"

"That is precisely why it won't be writing anything of the kind."

Luna knew of only one Morgan of legend and her hair stood straight on end. She was tall and graceful with long black hair that reached down to her knees. She wore a sleek, green gown with gold chains draped around her neck and arms. Hanging at the side of her waste was a sword. She sneered at Luna as her eyes made their way to the weapon. "Yes, it knows who I am already. This makes things easier."

Morgan le Fey was a woman of legend. She studied under Merlin himself and, according to some, was his lover for a time. She was the most powerful sorceress and possibly the world's very first true witch. Her wickedness and power stood as a long lasting symbol of how a woman's scorn should never be trifled with. She knew of only one sword Morgan le Fey would be carrying. Excalibur. The woman raised her hand. "Peace, child. We are both that which you seem to think, but neither of us fully what everyone says." She lowered her hand towards the ground and the earth rose up into the shape of a chair. She sat down in a single, elegant motion and gazed at Luna. "Luna Lovegood. You spoke of having the resources to seek out the murderer of our sister. Was this the truth or a falsehood?"

Luna nodded. "I have friends who make it their business to do just that. They are Aurors and they enforce the law and justice."

"So they are knights." She touched her sword. "Are they of our kin? Does magic course through them as it does you?"

"Yes, and I know them well. They are my friends."

Hecate spun in a circle. "Friendship is a powerful bond. It speaks much that you have them."

Luna frowned. "I'm going to need more information to give them, though, if they are to help you. About your sister and how she died."

Hecate stopped dancing and grew very still. The green ivy curling around her turned brown and grew long barbs. They twisted into her skin and drew blood as she clenched her fists. Wind began to blow and Luna shivered at its sudden chill. "She did not _die._ _We _cannot just _die."_ Leaves whipped past Luna and she covered her face. "She was killed!" the girl yelled. The ground began to shake.

Morgan slowly stood. "Enough, Hecate!" she commanded. Hecate drew her hair into her fists and began yelling, tears streaming down her face.

"She was killed! She was _killed!" _

Morgan looked at Luna. "Young child, cover your ears." Luna did as she was asked and Morgan continued speaking to Hecate. She could barely make out what the taller woman was saying, but she knew she no longer recognized the language. Even the sound of her voice was different. What had already sounded inhuman, like a low whispering of air, now sounded like the cracking of waves against a cliff-side. Somehow, Luna knew that this was the language of will, the words of existence, and as she spoke them, the wind around Hecate subsided and her wailing stopped. The small girl's shoulders shook with quiet sobs as Morgan slowly stroked her hair. The vines around her slender form turned green again as small flowers once again budded, bloomed, wilted and died. Luna removed her hands from her ears. Morgan sat on the ground and pulled Hecate down to lay her head on her lap. "She has been like this since Moirai's disappearance. Our oldest sister could always soothe her better than I."

"What can you tell me about her?"

Morgan seemed to consider the question for a long moment. "Moirai was the Seer. She knew all things that were and all things that could be. She loved all living creatures and had a particular fondness for humans. While those of our kind left the world of man, she lingered. She took pity on their mortal struggles and tried to usher them towards brighter futures."

"She seems very kind," Luna smiled.

"She was foolish," Morgan snapped. "Despite her vast knowledge, she held no other power." She paused in stroking Hecate's hair. "We can live forever, but that does not mean we cannot be killed. Alongside the two of us, Moirai was protected and we were strong. But all alone… It was fifty-three years ago when we felt her disappear entirely from your realm. She had a small hut in the forest we found you in and we searched in vain. All we had was the scent of dark magic; the dark magic of a powerful wizard. His scent along with hers was gone from the world." Her gaze met Luna's and hardened. "We have stayed here in this forest all these years hoping one day to find a hint of what might have befallen her when, three years ago, their energies returned. His scent was strong, but far away. Hers was weak. We felt her die and could do nothing."

"Could you not go to her?" Luna asked.

"No. We cannot leave this forest. When our kind left the world, all doorways were closed except for this one. This is why we need you. You came to us with a trace of his scent. You, or someone near you, has been in direct contact with the one who killed our sister. Luna Lovegood, we beseech you. Gether your knights- your friends- and find this man. Once you know his true name, return to us. Use this." Her pale fingers unlatched the chain around Hecate's neck. The silver key that hung from it glinted against the sunlight. This will bring you back to this forest. We will sense you and we will come."

She handed Luna the chained key. It was heavy in her palm. Three moons were ornamentally carved at its bow. "But, what will you do if you can't leave the forest?" She looked back up, but they were gone. The patch of clovers she had been sitting on was gone as well, replaced with dried leaves. She got to her feet and looked all around. The air was cold again and what had been morning light was now a sun set. She clutched the key tightly, then hung the chain around her neck. "I will do as you ask," she said. She pulled her sweater back on and began her journey out of the forest.

* * *

Hermione awoke in an even fouler mood than she'd been in when she went to bed. It had nothing to do with the conversation she'd had with Ron or the fight and – she wouldn't think about the other thing – she'd had with Thomas. Instead, it had everything to do with the small parade of fairies prancing around her room and throwing magical glitter in every direction.

"Happy – happy birthday,

You've made it another year

I conjured up this waking call

In hopes it'd bring you cheer!"

She jumped out of bed and started blasting the giggling fairies with her wand. She finally zapped one and it disappeared, but then two reappeared in its place and threw glitter right in her face. She coughed and growled in frustration.

"Can't stop us 'till the jig is done

We've waited all year long,

You'll have to sit real patiently

Until we've sung the song!"

She sat back on her bed and crossed her arms, her hair filled with glitter, and fumed while the spell sang through three more versus. She knew who'd done this and she would have her revenge. Finally, with many flips and cheers, the fairies cried out their last verse.

"We hope you love your presents

Along with new face creases,

Fondest wishes from yours truley

At Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes!"

With another explosion of glitter, they were gone and Hermione waited for the glitter to disappear. It didn't.

"GEORGE WEASLEY!" she yelled.

At Number 93 Diagon Alley, George Weasley chuckled over a cup of coffee while reading The Pruphet.

After casting numerous cleansing charms and taking two showers, she gave up trying to get the glitter out of her hair. Being the subject of numerous Weasley pranks, she knew from experience that it would take a day for the spelled sparkle to disappear on its own. She shook out her hair one last futile time before dressing and flooing to the Ministry. She wouldn't be caught dead walking outside in that state.

She charged through the Auror department doors and walked by Penelope's desk quickly. "Good morning, Hermione!" she called. "Happy B-… oh my…" Every desk she passed produced either a laugh or snort.

"Hermione!" Harry called. Hermione slowed and her mood instantly sobered. She turned and greeted him with a grimace.

"Hey, Harry," she said.

He grinned wolfishly. "George told me about that one, but I didn't think he'd actually use it on _you!_" He began laughing.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright, get it all out of your system already." Annoyed as she was, seeing him laugh tickled her stomach and she began to giggle. Soon, they were both laughing hysterically. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard. Tears pricked at the sides of her eyes and she wiped them away.

Harry calmed and pulled a small, book-sized parcel from his cloak. "Here, it's from me and Ginny."

She took it. "Thanks, Harry." She smiled. "I'll add it to my tiny library." She tucked it under her arm.

"No, open it here! It's not an ordinary book. I want to show you how it works!" he exclaimed.

She frowned, curious, and began to unwrap it. The hard bound leather read "INDEX" and she flipped through the numerous blank pages. She looked back up at Harry. "What is it?"

"It's an Index!" he said excitedly. "Here, close it up." She did so and he knocked on the top of the book three times. "Information on bat-bogey hexes." She felt the book vibrate lightly and she opened it back up. On each page were lists of book titles and authors. She gasped and looked back to Harry. "It lists every book with information related to what you ask it about. And look here, it has them ordered by which books hold the most to least information about that topic." He put his hands behind his back. "Ginny's idea, really. I didn't even know about it."

"Harry, this is brilliant!" she grinned, touched.

"Yeah, well, you know. You're brilliant. Now you can be even more brilliant." She hugged him tightly and he laughed. "Come on, you're getting birthday glitter all over me."

She grinned and let him go. Sure enough, he had glitter on his shoulders where her hair had touched him. "Hey, are you two doing anything for dinner tonight? I'd love to take Ginny up in that home-cooked meal she's been promising."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Of course! Absolutely!"

She smiled weakly. "I also need to talk to you two about Ron. Please don't invite anyone else, it's important."

Harry nodded. "Alright. Tonight then," he waved her away. "And sorry about George. You'll probably have to deal with that until you're birthday's over.

She chuckled and walked towards her office doors. She made her way inside and was met with a pile of presents on her desk. Thomas sat comfortably in his chair reading through a pending case file. His eyes widened at her appearance. "Well now," he said, rising from his seat, "someone certainly got a good sleep last night. You're positively radiant."

She was at a loss for words. All the things she had planned to say seemed stuck in her throat and she didn't even know where to begin. "Thomas…"

He stepped towards her and lifted his hand to silence her. "Look. It shouldn't have happened. I don't know why I did it and I apologize. I had an idea for fixing your magic and I got… carried away, I suppose." He brushed some glitter from the top of her head and smiled in amusement. "Can you still use your magic?"

"Yes," she said, relieved he'd brought it up first. But could they really move on that easily? She'd never had a partner before, and perhaps this sometimes happened when two people of the opposite sex were paired together. She'd have to just work harder on keeping things professional. She cleared her throat. "Yes," she repeated, "and I suppose I should thank you for that. Barbaric as your tactics were, they seemed to work."

"Quite," he smiled. "Well, Happy Birthday, I suppose," he said, gesturing towards her gifts. "These were all here when I arrived."

She looked them all over and noted one sitting on his desk. "Someone feel sorry for you and get you one as well?"

He shrugged. "Undoubtedly it fell from your enormous pile onto my desk." He picked it up and tossed it to her before sitting back down in his seat.

She turned the present around looking for a label, but there wasn't one. Frowning, she began to tear at the wrapping paper. It was a latched, wooden box. She undid the latch and opened the lid. There was a loud _hiss_ and a snake flew out of the box and latched its fangs into her palm. She dropped the box and pulled at its head, but it was impossible to pry away. Thomas was at his feet in a flash. She heard more hissing, but it wasn't coming from the snake. She looked up at him in shock. He was speaking a cluster of hisses and short, whispered vowel sounds as he slowly walked towards her, eyes trained on the snake. For a moment, she was more terrified of him than of the venom pouring into her hand. She backed away involuntarily. His eyes flashed up to her in warning, and she stilled. He reached out, still speaking to the snake, and lifted it by the tail slowly. Its jaw relaxed and he easily raised its head up. The fangs retracted and she cringed as she watched them pull out of her palm. He lowered himself to the ground and placed the two foot reptile back into the box then quickly shut the lid. "_Incendio,"_ he said, wandlessly burning the box.

He straightened back up quickly and Hermione took another step back. "You're a Parseltongue," she whispered hurriedly.

"Give me your hand," he demanded. When she didn't move, he grasped her arm quickly and opened her fingers. Two deep puncture marks beaded with blood and venom. He lowered his mouth to her hand. His lips touched her palm and her stomach fluttered. He sucked hard and turned his head to the side, spitting out the poisoned blood. Each time his lips returned to her hand, her heart beat faster and she felt light-headed. He looked back up at her quickly and clutched the side of her face, looking into her eyes.

"Are you feeling ill?"

He was so close. Her chest warmed and she looked down at his lips. "I must be," she said dazedly before her vision went black around the edges. The last thing she saw were his eyes. For an insane instant, they seemed to belong to the eyes of a snake.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

~Intro Notes~

This chapter was brought to you through the power of many cups of coffee. Thank you all for your wonderful comments! They really do light a fire under me to keep writing every time I see one. Big shout out to JD_Sparks, Brooklynhills, AriHuntington and Porgs_for_breakfast who have been sticking around and cheering me on since day one! Naminami, thanks for your beautiful words of encouragement! Everyone's support has me waking up early and staying up late working on this project.

I took a bit of a break the last couple of weeks to give the story a point-by-point outline and it's looking like it's going to be bigger than I thought. I'm really going to take my time getting the chapters out to make sure I do this story justice, but I'll try to keep them to at least one chapter release a month.

I'm trying to stay as close to canon as possible, so if anyone notices a blip, pleeeaase let me know! You totally won't hurt my feelings, lol. I might even knock some ideas off of you to get it fixed. Hopefully I didn't make a plot device out of it.

I hope you're all as excited as I am to see where this story takes us!

* * *

She was floating through an endless, cold mist. She didn't know how long she'd been there nor how she'd come by such a place. Something tiny and quiet pestered some small corner of her mind, trying to remind her of something, but she lazily pushed the voice to the side. Those speculations didn't interest her. She was light. She was numb.

She was content.

Small bubbles lazily drifted by her and she felt immense joy from knowing they accompanied her along her way. One bubble bobbed happily towards her and she smiled at its friendly demeanor. Faint whispers echoed to her ears as it neared. She looked into it curiously. Tiny shapes flitted back and forth inside of it and she giggled. She lifted her finger towards it and it popped. A wide array of colors exploded around her and filled the white void with dimension that focused her vision. Objects she recognized began to form. First walls made of grey stone, then a floor of smooth tile below her. Desks materialized and people slowly walked into existence. She found herself in a room full of people all bustling about their business. Her head whirled with how busily they all seemed to be working. She frowned at the silly people. How ridiculous they were. A small piece of her was eager to know what could possibly be so important… but no. Such matters were small and beneath her.

She floated through the people, some passing right through her as if she were just a wisp of smoke. Their faces were blurred and difficult to make out. One tall man with brown hair carried a stack of papers to a desk where another man with black hair was furiously writing something she couldn't read. The ink from his quill blead out in a pool on the parchment, then was absorbed into the whiteness and disappeared. He continued his writing as if nothing were amiss. He seemed to be yelling across the room for something, but his words were muffled, like trying to listen to someone while under water.

"I have two more here for Clarence! Where _is_ that man?" She turned her head. Did she know that name? The woman who spoke seemed to be lost in towers of letters. "Honestly, I've been practically doing his job for him the last couple days!" The blonde woman's face was clear. Her eyes were blue and her brows were furrowed. A small line between them spoke of many days of stress. She spoke with a man, but like all the other people, she couldn't quite make out his face or what he was saying. "Yes, sir. Yes, I understand, but I can't just leave the front desk… Ah! Finally!" The blonde looked towards her and handed out two papers. She didn't quite know how to react, so she reached out to take them. Before her hand could grasp them, a form walked right through her. She blinked and floated to the side to get a better look. Another man reached out and took the papers from the woman. "About time! Honestly, go and see a medi-witch if you're that sick. Bring these straight to Hermione. She requested them for her case. They're urgent." The man muffled a reply and walked away. He was pushing a cart that rolled along the ground.

_Hermione._ That was her name, wasn't it? She shook her head. There was something familiar about the place and that small tickle in the back of her mind became more demanding. She felt a pull at her naval and she was yanked up and away from the woman behind the desk. Slowly, thick fog folded itself across the world and she was once more drifting through the damp, chill white.

_How odd that was,_ she thought dreamily. Had she remembered her name just a moment before? She tried to remember what it had been, but quickly became bored with the idea and turned her attention back to the numerous bubbles. She supposed each of them were tiny bits of people's lives. She felt briefly embarrassed for intruding on personal moments, but what harm could it really do? She quickly decided to try another one.

She popped the next nearest bubble and colors blasted dimensions back around her. She was in a warm kitchen. The walls were the color of clay and picture frames were hung in every available space. Once again, the faces were difficult to make out, but most of the people in them had bright, red hair. A few photographs were of children flying around on broomsticks. One in particular was a group of people standing solemnly with their wands held out in front of them. _The Order of the Phoenix_, the voice in the back of her mind whispered. She shushed it, annoyed that it had intruded on her experience. She could smell something delicious cooking and noticed a large pot boiling on the stove over a low flame. Two women bustled into the kitchen, one young holding a letter, and the other much older. Both had red hair. The younger woman's face was clear to Hermione and she immediately felt a strong liking for her. Her eyes were a striking green and freckles dotted her cheeks in a cheery manner. She rested her arm lightly atop her protruding stomach, heavy with child. She sat down lightly at the small kitchen table with the older woman and set the opened letter down.

"Of course I want to do something for her, Mum, but Harry said she just wanted it to be us tonight."

The older woman murmured something inaudible, but she could make out the disapproval by her crossed arms.

The younger girl stood and walked to the pot, picking up a ladle to stir it three times. "I don't know, she hasn't told me. That's why it's so important that we make her feel comfortable. If I can just get her to talk to me, I can try to help work things out between them."

The older woman spoke again and the young girl shrugged. "He came by yesterday saying he wanted to see her. To apologize for something. I thought it was a good first step and let him use our floo." She set the ladle down and leaned her hip against the counter, rubbing her stomach absent mindedly. Her face became one of concern. "Something didn't seem right about him, though. I regretted it as soon as he left. He smelled like alcohol. He used to have the occasional drink when we all went out with friends, but Ron was never a heavy drinker."

She froze at the name. _Ron_. _Fiance. _She gripped her hair at the sudden images flashing into her mind. _You are Hermione Granger. You are an Auror. You are hunting a killer. This is not where you should be…_

Suddenly, she was being pulled away again, floating up and out of the kitchen. "Ginny!" she called, but her words were lost in the white mist that was once again surrounding her. She put her hands over her face. "I am Hermione Granger," she said, determinedly. I am an… I'm a…" What was she? She was on some sort of mission, but she couldn't remember what it was. Frowning, she looked around again. She had to get back to where she belonged. The white fog was sapping her of her memories and she feared what would happen if she lost them all again. Somehow, she knew that if she stayed there too long, she would slowly fade away into the endless mist. If her memories came back through the memories of others, then she'd just have to pop another bubble. She picked the closest one and grabbed it.

She waited for the scenery to right itself around her before gathering her bearings. A man was sitting silently by a low fire. As she floated closer, she noted his long, platinum hair mingled with streaks of silver that glinted with fire light. He wore a sharp, tailored suit and a cane rested against his leather chair. Despite his wealthy appearance, he seemed bedraggled and worn. His grey eyes stared lifelessly into the flames. She cocked her head to the side as she studied him. Who was he? What was wrong with him? Unable to stop herself, she hovered in front of him and waved her hand before his face. He didn't flinch a muscle. Something about him was infuriatingly familiar. Despite his sorry state, she felt a loathing for the man. Something inside urged her to strike him across the face, but she squelched the thought. Whatever he had done in his life, he was obviously paying for it. Before she had a chance to look around the room, she felt the tug once more and saw white fog trickling in along the creases of the wooden floors boards. "No!" she shouted. "Not yet!" Suddenly, the man's eyes locked onto hers. His hand snatched hers in a vice-like grip. She yelped in surprise. He pulled her towards him and looked into her eyes. They were wide and full of the animalistic terror belonging to a cornered beast.

"Help….me…." his voice gurgled, sounding like broken glass. She clawed at his hand, but it stuck firm. The fog billowed around them and she thought he might escape the bubbled world with her.

"Who are you?!" she yelled. He breathed in a ragged breath and gripped her harder. She screamed in pain.

"Do not…trust…" he screeched into her face. "The Dark…

The white engulfed the man just as she kicked against his chest, and she was sent sprawling back through the mist. Bubbles began popping as she shot through them. Multiple worlds sprung up all around her. A cacophony of noise and bodies overloaded her senses. She gripped her head and tried to block it all out. Raucous laughter blead into the sounds of children arguing. Someone was crying and then someone was singing. Bodies jolted her from side to side and she shut her eyes tight against it all.

"Hermione?" someone's voice echoed over the noise and she looked up. There was pitch black above her. After trying so hard to escape the all-encompassing white, she welcomed the darkness. And anything was better than the madness all around her. She levitated and reached for the dark. She raised her hands towards her name echoing from the unknown, and she could almost taste…

* * *

She shot upright and spit out the disgusting liquid in her mouth. The sudden movement made her head spin. Her eyes crossed and she fell backwards, her head knocking onto something wooden and hard. She groaned.

Above her, someone click their tongue in annoyance. "Come on, now, you almost had it all down." She knew that deep voice. "I don't exactly have this on me in large supply."

Hermione's mind reeled as she grasped at the reality around her. Pieces of her fevered dream still clung to her conscious state. Most notably was a terrified man… _Lucius?_… demanding she not trust the dark. She opened her eyes weakly and lolled her head to the side. She realized she was lying on Thomas' desk. Everything clicked back into place in her mind. She could still smell the charred remains of the snake. He had _spoken _to it. Gooseflesh erupted over her arms. She watched as he pulled a vial of light purple liquid from inside his cloak. Muttering an incantation, he swirled the remedy around until it began to fizz. He moved towards her and she raised her hand to ward him away.

"You're a Parseltongue," she accused, fear making her feel heavy.

"And you are dying. You might already be dead if it wasn't for my managing to get some of the poison out of your hand before it fully entered your blood stream. I hardly see how my speaking to snakes has anything to do with you decision to drink this potion." He frowned down at her. "Are you worried it might kill you?" He pulled the vial away from her. "In that case, feel free to die anyway."

His heavy disapproval of her rationale made her cheeks burn in humiliation. She knew from her readings on cursed venoms that remedies must be taken immediately. She didn't have the time to consider other options. "Give me the potion," she said.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be dead? Us snake-speakers aren't to be trusted, after all," he mocked.

A wave of nausea hit her and she fought not to pass out. He noticed her eyes fluttering to stay open and he reached forward to tilt her head up. "Drink," he commanded.

She did. She got half-way through the fowl glass before she began gag. He pulled the vial away. "Relax," he said calmly. "Drink it all." She took a deep breath through her mouth and tightened her eyes while he tipped the remaining liquid into her mouth. "There." He set her head back down and watched her, seemingly making sure she wouldn't wretch it back up. When she didn't, he returned the vial into his cloak and raised his wand over her body. "I'm casting a diagnostic. You might feel some discomfort, but keep still." He wordlessly waived the wand over her stomach. Warmth pooled across her abdomen and his fingers grazed her lightly above her navel. His eyebrows knit together as he focused on the magical readings. Slowly, he trailed his fingertips upwards. The warmth seemed to follow his touch and bloomed over her chest as he gently pressed down on the muscle above her heart. Her pulse began to beat faster. She wouldn't have described the sensation as one of discomfort. It actually felt good. It felt a bit _too _good. She blushed and turned her head to the side, furious at the effect he seemed to have on her. He paused his ministrations. "Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine," she said, trying to keep her voice from showing any distress. She could feel her blush spreading down her neck. "Just hurry and finish."

He smirked, but removed his hand. "The potion has worked its way to your heart successfully. From there, it will spread throughout your body and destroy any remainder of the cursed venom that entered your blood stream." He stepped away from her and sat back in his chair with a sigh. They stared awkwardly at each other for a moment. His eyes were cold. Normally, she couldn't get much of a read off of him, but she could swear he almost seemed angry. She felt too exposed lying out on his desk and sat up, sliding her legs to hang off the edge. She chose her next words carefully.

"Was that your anti-venom potion?" she asked dryly.

"Yes," he replied.

She could feel the potion spreading towards her outer extremities and noted her pulse returning to its normal gaited tempo. "It's fortunate you had that with you today," she said slowly.

"I have a great deal of potions that I keep on me at all times. I wasn't sure what sort of jobs I'd be taking on as an Auror, so I brewed a great many." He patted his cloak pocket. "Much as you do, I might add."

"How do you know what I keep on me?"

He reached down to the floor and brought up her beaded bottomless-bag. "I meant to give this back to you. You'd left it at the library last night. I opened it to put some of your parchment inside when I realized its clever trick." He handed it to her then pulled his cloak open. "I've had a similar charm cast on the pockets inside my cloak."

She couldn't hold the question burning inside her any longer. "Why didn't you tell me you're a Parseltongue?"

His eyebrow twitched slightly as he righted his robe. "Well, it's not exactly the kind of thing one boasts about, is it?" His words were sharp. "Yes, I am a Parseltongue. There are more of us out there than most realize. Prejudices being what they are, we don't exactly flaunt the fact. You're welcome, by the way."

He was gaslighting her. There was something up with him, she could smell it. She thought of Lucius begging for her help. She remembered Draco telling her be careful. She might not know anything for certain yet, but things were happening around her without her knowledge. And Hermione hated being out of the loop. She took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm sorry, Thomas. Thank you. This whole experience has me a bit… rattled is all." She glanced back at his face to see if he accepted her apology. As usual, she couldn't tell what affect her words had. Maybe being a Parseltongue meant he was an unfortunate target of wizarding prejudices, maybe it didn't. Maybe he just happened to be at the right time and place to save her from a venomous snake by coincidence. She looked at the small pile of ashes where Tom burned the snake. And maybe it wasn't a coincidence. She vowed to herself in that moment as she slid off his desk and flashed him her most grateful smile that if he was involved in something he shouldn't be, he would lament the day he was partnered with her. She stood and walked around to sit at her desk. "I'm feeling much better now. Let's get back to work."

* * *

To say that Tom was irritated would be an arbitrary understatement to the rage he felt as they poured over documents. Beneath his carefully manicured façade was an irate hellfire. The witch's little suspicions had been expected and certainly didn't do anything to help his cover, but that wasn't what raised temper to a boiling point. That snake had almost certainly been meant for him. Not being in a habit of trusting any gift, let alone one from unknown origins, he'd taken a gamble and let Hermione open it. Whatever was inside, he'd rather someone else be subjected to whatever trickery the box contained. It had been placed on his desk purposefully, apart from her large pile, and he had taken a gamble by tossing it to Hermione. But seeing the snake sink its fangs into her hand had stirred something in his stomach, and he'd felt himself grow cold when she passed out in his arms. Her lips turned a dangerous shade of purple, and he knew he didn't have enough time to get her to St. Mungo's. He'd summoned his sparse supply of anti-toxin from his robes. She seemed so light when he lifted her on top of the desk. He brushed her glittered hair away from her lips and tilted the potion down her throat. For a long heart-beat, she hadn't moved at all. When she shot up, sputtering the liquid out of her mouth, he'd let out a sigh he hadn't known he'd been holding.

He looked up from his documents as she scribbled furiously at her desk across from his. Despite her brief brush with death, he was glad to see color returning to her cheeks. "Should we not notify The Minister?"

Hermione glanced at him sharply, then seemed to consider. "No," she said after some time. "There's no doubt the package was delivered by unsuspecting hands. Starting up a new investigation now would just hinder us from our main objective. I'm fine, thanks to you, and that's all that matters. For now." She held up her ringed finger as a reminder to keep the knowledge to himself. He grinned inwardly. She had no idea of the double-edged sword she wore.

Clarence announced his arrival with a soft knock before he rolled his cart into their office. He handed Hermione her usual coffee then turned to Tom and handed him some documents. He glanced at quickly at Tom, then away again. "Happy b-b-birthday, Hermione," he said. "S-s-sure got a l-lot of gifts."

Hermione looked to the side of the office where she'd moved all the gifts into a pile. "Yes, I can't wait to open them at home." He presumed she wanted to make sure she cast every detection spell her book-filled brain could concoct to make sure she didn't have any more surprises. Tom watched as Clarence eyed the boxes nervously. No doubt he'd wished she'd opened his gift already. The man truly was infatuated with the witch, that much was obvious. Tom smirked. Slightly dejected by Hermione's lack of attention, Clarence hastily began rolling his cart back out of the office door. Tom stared intently at a pile of papers on the man's cart and gave them a small mental push. They tipped precariously and scattered across the floor. He stood from his seat quickly.

"Let me help you with that," he offered. Clarence dropped to the floor and was frantically trying to gather all the pages back together. Tom helped him, watching amusedly as the man's hands shook. He stood back up and opened the door for the flustered office clerk. Clarence bowed his head in thanks and hurried out, not meeting Tom's eye. Tom smiled and stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him. "Oh, Clarence? Aren't you forgetting something?" He held out more papers he'd purposefully held back. Clarence blanched and slowly approached him with his hand outstretched. Tom raised the papers out of his reach. "Certainly must have been a busy morning with everyone delivering all those presents for our girl. You wouldn't happened to remember where the small, wooden one came from, would you?"

Clarence finally met his eyes. Despite the man's twitching and stuttering, his gaze was surprisingly firm. "S-she is n-n-not your g-girl," he spat out acidly as he grabbed the papers. "And the g-gifts were all delivered to h-h-her desk before I even got here. They came from b-both the Ministry staff and p-personal owls." He stacked the papers on his cart and continued walking away angrily. Tom watched after him, thinking hard. He'd hoped perhaps that the presents were only from employees in the Ministry. At least that would narrow his search. He turned back towards the office and paused. He felt someone's eyes on him. Slowly, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder. A group of Aurors stood some paces away in conversations while drinking coffee. Everyone but one seemed to be deep in conversation. Harry Potter stood, ignoring the others' conversation, and stared at Tom with a dark look on his face. Tom cautiously grazed the outer walls of Harry's mind with Legilemency. His thoughts were guarded by a massively fortified wall. Tom wouldn't be able to break though it without Harry knowing. So he gave him his best smile and continued walking into the office. He had expected Harry's suspicions. Now that they were confirmed, he'd have to take a bit more care around him.

* * *

Hermione looked up as Thomas came back into the room. "What was that about?"

Thomas shrugged. "Just helping the man with his clutter. And reminding him about my coffee."

She looked down at the two slips of paper Clarence had delivered, which were still in Thomas' hand. "What have you got?" she asked. He looked at the documents. "Looks like Clarence brought us the two lists we requested. Projected births for the remainder of the year and Notor's list of personnel who used the Department of Mysteries' floo on the night of Velch's murder." He glanced over them before handing them to Hermione. "You're not going to be pleased with the either, I'm afraid."

Hermione took the pages and her eyebrows slowly drew together. "None of these employee names have time stamps," she said.

Thomas nodded. "Nor does it list their destinations. They could have been going anywhere."

"There have to be at least fifty names on here!" She continued scanning. "Some of these people don't even work in that department!" She slammed the paper down onto her desk. "It's garbage! He did this on purpose," she seethed. She looked at the list Penelope had compiled for her of upcoming births. "Oh no…" she lowered the list and stared forward blankly. There weren't many more pregnancies left before Ginny was due. November 24th was just over two months away. She had to catch the murderers. She looked at Thomas and considered an option she'd been avoiding. As important as catching the murderers was, she now had a more pressing matter at hand. She couldn't trust her partner. So long as he still believed things were fine between them, she would be able to get close enough to figure out what he was hiding. "Thomas, you offered to teach me wandless magic."

Thomas' eyes widened just a fraction in surprise. "I did," he said, leaning casually against her desk.

She looked up at him. She was hesitant to get in another dueling match with him, but this was the perfect opportunity to meet with him outside of work. "If you're still up to it, I'd like to occupy some of your time on the weekends." Thomas smirked. "_Not _at the Manor," she added quickly. Tom regarded her for a moment. She hadn't realized she was scratching her scarred arm until she followed his gaze. She self-consciously pulled her robe's sleeve to make sure it was covered. In her haste to get to work, she hadn't cast a glamor charm over the markings. "We can't practice at my flat either. There isn't any open space at all."

"My place will suffice," Thomas said. "I can collect you tomorrow morning."

Hermione silently celebrated his offer. Now she had an excuse to see inside where he lived.

"If you think it's got the space, that would be perfect. Now, back to business," she said, picking up her bottomless bag and digging out her favorite pen. "We need to get each of these homes properly warded."

As they exited the Auror's Department, Penelope waved Hermione to her desk. "There seems to be some sort of protest going on down in the main lobby. Would you mind stopping down there to check it out? We sent a few Aurors down to handle it and they haven't returned yet."

"Protest?" Hermione asked. "Protest against what?"

"Some group of fanatics is demanding the locations of the babies left behind after the murders."

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked at Thomas.

"The Pauci Electi," he said, "They were mentioned in The Prophet for protesting at the victim's homes." He raised his eyebrow at her. "Perhaps a quick detour from our schedule is in order?"

"Absolutely," she whispered, then continued out the door. "I love it when they come straight to me. Thanks Penelope!"

As they made their way closer to the main lobby, they could hear the roar of the crowd before they saw it. Hermione and Tom turned the corner and looked down the long expanse of stairs at the mass of white-cloaked figures below them. Each person wore a golden mask. The effect was oddly similar to the Death Eater ensemble except for the color choice. They were chanting at the wall of magical defense the Ministry Employees had expanded to keep them from getting further inside.

"YOU WILL RELEASE THE CHOSEN CHILDREN! THE PAUCI ELECTI DEMAND! THE DARK LORD MUST BE STOPPED AGAIN! THE PAUCI ELECTI DEMAND!"

One cloaked man stood high on a pedestal within the crowd and guided the Pauci Electi in their chant. His mask was different from the rest. Golden metal sunrays spiked out forming a crown around his head. He pumped his fist in the air. "The children must be guided!"

"THE CHILDREN MUST BE GUIDED!" the crowd repeated in unison.

"The Pauci Electi demand!"

"THE PAUCI ELECTI DEMAND!"

"The son will rise again!"

"THE SON WILL RISE AGAIN!"

"The Pauci Electi demand!"

"THE PAUCI ELECTI DEMAND!"

The man turned to face the Ministry employees. "We will not be silenced anymore! The God of the Morning demands justice and we are his tools. Heed our demands before darkness falls over the wizarding world!"

"God of the Morning?" Thomas asked Hermione.

Hermione shrugged. "Every cult has its deity. There are all sorts of cults establishing themselves in the Muggle world, but I'm a bit surprised to see one here."

The masked man tilted his head up and Hermione felt his eyes land on her. He raised his hands into the air. "Let silence fall, my brothers and sisters! We have been graced with the presence of She who walked in the light of the last chosen son!" He bowed low, and the group behind him fell to their knees, their masks touching the ground. "See how the sunlight shines from Her hair! Graced with the God of the Morning's heavenly rays, She will be our beacon on this day!"

Hermione stiffened and Thomas looked at her with a wide smile on his face. "It's the glitter in your hair," he said quietly.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," she murmured, aghast.

"Why don't you play along?" he advised. "They'll listen to you. See if you can get them out of here." He put his hand across his heart and bowed to her reverently. "My radiant one."

Hermione grimaced and tried to think quickly. Perhaps they would listen to her. "I'll kill you for this," she gritted through her fake smile. She lifted her wand to her throat and cast a charm to project her voice across the crowd. "Pauci Electi, you have done well bringing your fight to my attention. Your words have summoned me here." The crowd moaned in reverence and she did her best to hide her disgust. "I have been charged with stopping these crimes. Please rest assured that I am tending to the children and… they will be raised in the light." Did she hear someone crying? "Consider your work here done for the day. Leave this place and allow me to continue in your stead. Thank you."

She looked down at Thomas when nobody moved. "The Pauci Electi demand?" he whispered.

"The Pauci Electi demand!"

"THE PAUCI ELECTI DEMAND!"

They rose to their feet and one by one began exiting the floos. Thomas took her hand in his and looked up at her mischievously. "You certainly make a captivating idol." He kissed her knuckles lightly.

"Get up! I can't believe you!" she hissed. She ignored the way her stomach fluttered at the touch of his cool lips.

He stood up, still smirking and looked over the exiting crowd. "We should grab the ring leader before he leaves." Hermione nodded in agreement and they made their way down the stairs. She spotted Neville in the crowd. He was sweating, most likely due to the exertion of holding up the shield to keep the cultists at bay. He mouthed 'thank you' to her as she hurried by. Thomas spotted the sun-burst mask above the heads of other cloaked figures and took Hermione by the wrist, guiding her through the bodies. They came up on him just as he was about to step through a floo.

"Excuse me, sir?" He turned and regarded her and Thomas. "A word, if we may."

"Of course," he said reverently. "There is always time to speak with one who walks in the light." They stepped off to the side by the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

Thomas spoke up first. "This gathering was most impressive. It must have taken some time to get everyone together. Forgive my ignorance, but what is your name?"

The man held his hands out apologetically. "We are not defined by our roles outside the true calling. We are one and we are many. The warriors of the Light are the mission. We are the way."

"But you obviously hold a role above the others to lead them as you do," Hermione said.

"I am but a humble servant to the call. I will admit to ushering the rallies, though. Gathering and protecting the children is of the utmost importance in this dark time. Our appearance has also done well to spread our word and gather more warriors."

"As much as we appreciate your concern for the children victimized by this killer, you must realize that we cannot let their whereabouts be known to anyone at this time. For their safety," Hermione said. "We also cannot release them to the custody of witches and wizards who wish to remain unknown. Noble as your intentions are, you must see the error in this."

"The God of the Morning has spoken to us." She could feel his intense gaze on her. "The Dark Lord will rise again, if he hasn't already. The children left behind have been chosen as worthy adversaries. They must not be hidden away from us like Harry Potter was. He was brought into the fight blind to his calling and unprepared. We will raise them to be warriors." He paused in his speech. "I thought you of all people would understand this."

Hermione touched the man's shoulder in reassurance. "Please believe me, I understand wanting to make sure we are all kept safe from the wrath of another Dark Wizard. But, these are just children. Worse so, they are babies who don't even know yet what's been taken from them. They need to be with their families and they need to be given a chance at the life that was taken from them."

"They need to be trained in our ways," he said harshly. She took her hand away.

"Do you really think the Dark Lord would leave the greatest threats to him alive with a chance to grow up and defeat him?" Thomas' voice lowered. "Do you take the Dark Lord to be a fool?" The masked man made no comment and Hermione wished she could see his face to measure his reaction. "What has happened to them is a crime, but it does not make them your martyrs. They are simply bystanders to an unfortunate series of events. We assure you that they are being well cared for. The fight against this murderer will begin and end with our actions." Thomas added.

After only a moment's pause, the man stood back up from his seat. "You speak good sense. The God of the Morning issues us his warnings, but the path to His Light is not always clear. Perhaps we misjudged the significance of the children. Your fight is a noble one." He bowed low to them. "You have our thanks, Hermione Granger. Know that if you are ever in need, we will heed your call. Reach out to us if you are in need of assistance in this matter."

Hermione straightened. "How would I contact you? No one knows who you are or where you even meet."

The man regarded her as he reached into his robes. He pulled out a single gold Galleon and handed it to her. "I believe you know how this works. Let us know when and we will meet you here."

She looked at the ordinary coin, then held it to her chest and tried to look past his mask. "Who _are_ you?"

He bowed to her and nodded to Thomas before stepping backwards into the floo. "Diagon Alley," he stated before disappearing. She and Thomas both looked down at the Galleon.

"I'm assuming there is more significance to that than it equaling seventeen sickles and measuring up to approximately 1.98 grams," Thomas said, standing by her and looking down at the coin curiously. Hermione quickly put it in her pocket.

"Yes," she said. "It's quite significant indeed." She didn't want to tell him the history she had with the very same coin back in her early Hogwarts years in the DA. The Protean charm on the master coin had been one of her more prouder moments of ingenuity. It reflected its appearance onto the copies held by others. If she changed the date marked on the coin, the other coins would change as well, alerting the holders to meet with her. She looked at the floo, wondering who from Dumbledore's Army he could have been. "It means, despite his questionable methods, that he is a friend," she said simply and looked up at him, smiling. "Merlin knows, we need one out there."


End file.
